


I Can See the Guy I Accidentally Killed

by Leone_Zemson



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Band, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Attempted Rape, Depression, Ghost!Mikey, Grief, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Moving On, Rated M for safety purposes, Slow Build, Spirit Medium!Patrick, ghost!Brendon, smut at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-28 06:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 46,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5081563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leone_Zemson/pseuds/Leone_Zemson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick wasn't sure what was worse - the fact that he has just been sent to jail, or the fact that he can see the souls of the dead. Including the one he accidentally killed. </p><p>But as he carries out Mikey's last wishes, he finds that he is becoming more and more attracted to Pete, the boyfriend that Mikey left behind in the living side of things. Unfortunately, Pete hates him for Mikey's death. </p><p>And someone who hates Patrick is about to get their revenge...</p><p>Petekey and Patrick/Brendon in the beginning, but eventual Peterick. Mikey dies in the first chapter :(</p><p>Epilogue is finally up, which has the only smut for you dirty sinners</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note for new readers:
> 
> This needs a huge overhaul, so forgive the cringiness and please don't judge my current writing with it.

Mikey’s eyes widened as the van grew closer and closer. He wondered what the hell the driver was doing on his side of the road, but either way Mikey had to do something.

Mikey tried to swerve out of the way, but the driver had sped up. It was too late – the van smashed into the side of Mikey’s small car, on the driver’s side.

Mikey was thrown violently forward, smashing his head on the driver’s wheel. His seatbelt cut into his chest, painfully digging into his ribs. He was knocked unconscious. The car flipped backward, landing on its roof.

The van came to a halt about 10 yards away from the car wreck. The driver’s door opened, as a small man stumbled onto the road.

“Oh no,” he said, his voice trembling. He wobbled on his feet, then stumbled over to the wrecked car. He looked into the smashed window of the driver’s door, and saw a knocked-out Mikey. He tugged the door open, unbuckled the seatbelt and dragged Mikey out of the seat, and onto the tar road. He saw blood running down Mikey's cheek, and pushed away his hair to reveal a large gash. There were also several lacerations on his face and arms.

He also saw that he was fairly tall and skinny, and he wore thick eyeliner, black lipstick, a black t-shirt and skinny jeans. He also had black hair, but at the moment it was very messy, and part of it was caked with blood. The man seemed slightly familiar, but unable to place, maybe someone from TV.

"Shit. Oh shit,” mumbled the man, wringing a fedora between his hands. Not knowing how to handle the situation, but knowing he had to do something, the van’s driver pulled out his phone and dialled 911.

“Hello? I-I need help…” he hiccupped. “I… had an accident. The other dude is knocked out. Please, you gotta send an... an ambulance or something.”

He stumbled back over to his van, noticing the indentation in the front bumper. He winced internally when he saw a matching indentation in the driver’s door of the wrecked car.

“Yeah, it’s bad…” he mumbled in reply to the operator.

Pete was waiting for his boyfriend to come home, flipping through the channels of his television. He stopped at the news channel, where there was a breaking news report on a car crash.

“My Chemical Romance bassist Michael Way has just been identified as the victim of a car crash on Route 1 heading south. His car was found…”

Pete threw the remote control down, grabbed his car keys and coat and ran out of the door.

“Let me through! You have to let me through! He's my boyfriend!” Pete cried out, fighting against the police that held him back, away from the wreckage, away from his Mikey. He saw his boyfriend being carried away on a stretcher, tears forming in his eyes at the state of his boyfriend. Off to the side, he could see the police questioning a short, chubby man with odd sideburns.

“Sir, you have to let the ambulance crew do their job, once your boyfriend is stabilized at the hospital you can visit him,” said one of the officers holding him back, calmly pressing a hand to Pete's shoulder, gentle but firm.

“Excuse me,” a medic said, approaching Pete, “Are you a friend or relative of Michael’s?”

“Yeah, Yeah. I’m his boyfriend,” Pete choked out, bobbing his head up and down, still in shock.

“You can let him go, officers. He can ride in the ambulance with us.” the medic suggested. The officers immediately let go of Pete, who grabbed the medic in a huge bear hug.

“Thank you,” he croaked out through his tears.

“Uh, it’s okay sir,” the medic replied, a little taken aback. When Pete let go, the medic gestured to the ambulance. “This way. We need to hurry.” As Pete followed the medic, he saw the chubby man being put into handcuffs, an officer frowning at the results of a breathalyser test.

Pete climbed into the ambulance with the medic, holding Mikey's hand as he watched the medics attach an oxygen mask over his boyfriend's face and slip a needle into his wrist, attaching a tube linking up to a bag of fluid. Pete couldn’t control his tears, letting them fall carelessly down his face.

His Mikey was looking so pale.

Eventually, they made him move back to a small bench in the back, out of the way while they ran tests and hooked Mikey up to machines that would keep him alive, at least until they got to the hospital.

“Is he going to pull through?” Pete squeaked, afraid of the answer. One of the medics regarded him with a concerned expression.

“At the moment we can observe that he has a major concussion and several broken ribs, but we don’t know if there’s any bleeding in his brain. If he’s lucky, there won’t be any major bleeding, and we’ll be able to help him. However, if there is, his chances of survival are…” the medic stopped, not sure whether or not to finish her sentence. “Either way, that’s our major concern right now, but we can't be sure if he has sustained any other serious injuries.” Pete turned his face away, unable to mask the sobs that came over his body like waves.

The rest of the journey went by with a lot of tension and worrying for Pete, and he followed the medics out of the ambulance as they wheeled Mikey into the Emergency Room.

“You have to wait here, sir,” one of the medics said, motioning to the seats in the waiting room. Pete simply nodded, crashing down into one of the seats. He put his head in his hands, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm himself. He then pulled out his phone, and called Gerard.

“Yeah?” called a sleepy voice at the other end of the line.

“Gee, it’s Pete. It’s about Mikey.”

“What happened?”

“Mikey – he…” Having to say it caused a new wave of tears to build up in his eyes. “Mikey was in a car accident. I don’t know if he’s going to pull through, Gee.” There was a pause, and Pete heard Gerard take in a huge breath.

“Oh god. Where are you?”

“The Northwestern Memorial Hospital…”

“I’m coming now. Frank, wake up!” And with that, Gerard hung up the phone.

Pete didn’t know how much time passed, but after a while he felt someone hugging him.

“Oh Pete,” a calm voice said, intruding Pete’s ears. He looked up to see the tired face of Mikey’s brother, Gerard. His hair was messed up, his shirt was on backwards and he had darker circles under his eyes than usual, but it was Gerard. Pete could see Frank sitting behind him, biting his nails.

“Hey Gee,” Pete greeted, though his tone was flat and his voice scratchy.

“Thanks for calling me,” Gerard said. Pete could see that he had been crying as well.

“Of course, Gerard. I would never have left you in the dark.”

“Do you know how he’s doing right now?”

“The doctors haven’t come out to say anything yet. I’m so scared…”

“Me too, Pete.” The conversation died down into silence, a concern for Mikey impregnating the air.

After another indefinite amount of time, one of the doctors emerged into the waiting room. Pete, Gerard and Frank looked up as the doctor approached them.

“You’re Peter, correct?” the doctor asked. Pete nodded. “Michael has been stabilised, but he’s still knocked out, and in a fragile state right now. You can visit him, but not for long. He’s in room 109.”

“Thank you,” Pete replied numbly.

“Can I visit him too? I’m his brother,” Gerard piped up.

“Of course.” As if sensing what Frank was about to say, the doctor turned to him. “Do you also know Michael?”

“I’m one of his fellow bandmates,” Frank said.

“Three is a bit of a crowd, but I guess you can go. Just try not to interfere with anything.” The doctor moved off, presumably to help somewhere else.

“Come on.” Gerard said, standing up. Pete and Frank followed him, looking for the room labelled 109. They didn’t have to look far, and they entered the ward together.

Mikey was now missing a shirt, and the three men could see that he was sporting some huge bruises on his chest and left side, which looked disgusting on his pale skin. There was a bandage around his head, but some blood was still leaking through it. His face looked better, as it was cleaned up from the lacerations. He was hooked up to various IV fluids, and to a heart monitor. The constant beeping from it calmed Pete’s nerves. Mikey was fine, for now. He was still alive.

A nurse walked into the ward, a clipboard in her hands. She pushed her way through to Mikey’s bedside, making notes.

“Is he going to be okay, nurse?” Pete asked.

“He has been stabilised, but he’s still in a critical condition. Right now, he could get worse, or he could get better. He had haemorrhages in his brain, and in the left side of his abdomen. We have operated on the blood vessels and have sealed them to prevent further bleeding. Right now, he is still in a fragile condition, and he could fall into a coma. We’ll see how he’s doing in the morning. I suggest you all go home and get some rest, it’s been a long evening for you.” Pete thanked her, and after she made all her notes, she exited the room. Pete continued watching Mikey for a while, hoping that by some miracle, he would wake up and assure Pete that he was going to be okay. Of course, they all knew that something like that wouldn’t really happen.

“Maybe you should go home, Pete. She’s right, we’ve all had a really long day,” Frank suggested.

“I don’t want to leave him,” Pete said, his voice sounding vulnerable.

“I don’t want to either, Pete, but staying here won’t make a difference to whether or not he makes it. Whether we like it or not, we need to rest,” Gerard said, his own voice trembling. Pete took a deep breath, and sighed.

“I’ll be here in the morning,” Pete decided, then turned around to exit the Emergency Room. Gerard and Frank looked at each other.

“I thought he would put up a bigger fight than that,” Frank said.

“He sounded exhausted,” Gerard pointed out. He then hugged his boyfriend, his body shaking, and tears finally being released from the confines of their tear ducts. “I’m so worried about Mikey, though.”

“I know, and so am I. But you were right, staying here isn’t going to help. We need to go home too, Gee. Before we’re both chased out.”

“Okay,” Gerard replied, his voice still thick. Together, they exited the hospital.

It was early in the morning when Pete heard the telephone ring. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and instead stayed up watching movies online.

“Hello?” Pete answered the phone tiredly.

“Mr. Wentz?” the voice on the other end asked.

“Yes,” Pete replied, apprehension in his voice. He sensed that something was coming, but hoping with every fibre of his being that he was wrong.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Wentz. It's your boyfriend. About twenty minutes ago, his heart had stopped-“

Pete didn’t listen. He couldn’t. When he put down the phone, his cries of grief filled the air. His boyfriend. His Mikey. Pete could barely bear the ache in his chest. He thought that his life was over. He would never get another chance at what he had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing notes: Yeah, I've edited this. Special thanks to PopPunkTart for being my beta-reader and helping me edit!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick realises what he has done, ghost Brendon, and one round of courtroom drama.

Patrick groaned as he woke up, shifting in his uncomfortable bed, and trying to block out the outside world. He realised that his bed didn’t feel like his normal bed.

 _Did I go to a girl’s house? Or a guy’s house?_ he wondered idly. He wouldn’t really mind, it probably meant that he got laid.

 _Man, I drank way too much last night. Maybe I can ask if they’ve got any aspirin._ But that would mean opening his eyes.

Patrick groaned again, opening his eyes slightly to see if he had to brave any light. The room he was in was a fairly dull, so he opened his eyes fully.

He looked around, and saw that in the small room he was in, there was only a bed, which was bare except for a thin blanket, which he was wrapped up in. There was a concrete floor, and for a door… bars.

Patrick bolted into a sitting position, which didn’t agree with the hangover he was currently having. His headache throbbed, and his stomach churned.

“Holy smokes,” Patrick said, realising that he must have done stupid the previous night. He didn’t get laid, he got jailed.

Patrick stood up and walked over to the bars, which, though still didn’t agree with his hangover, was what Patrick had to do in order to get some answers.

“Hello?” Patrick called out. “Is anyone there?” An officer approached Patrick’s cell.

“Oh, so you finally woke up,” the officer said, though not unkindly. “Are you okay?”

“No, I feel bad, and I don’t remember what happened last night. Can you please tell me what I’m in here for?”

“Well, you were in here initially for DUI bodily injury, but now the charges have been increased to Vehicular Homicide.”

“…I can’t really understand that right now.”

“You crashed into someone while drunk driving, and you killed them.”

“Holy smokes!” Patrick covered his mouth after his loud exclamation, shocked at what he had done.

“I’m sorry, sir. You seem like a good guy, and even more since this is your first run-in with the law. Can I get you an aspirin?” Patrick merely nodded, and the officer moved off to find the aspirin, and Patrick sat back down on the bed.

“I can’t believe I killed somebody,” he murmured. A minute later, the officer came back. Patrick took the aspirin and glass of water gratefully.

“If it’s any consolation, you did have the decency to stop and call for an ambulance. You also dragged the man out of the car, which had flipped over onto its roof.”

“Thanks,” Patrick replied, feeling just a tiny bit better.

The officer moved off to attend to other duties, leaving Patrick to mull over what he just learnt.

“I’m so screwed,” Patrick moaned. “There is no way I’m going to get off the hook on this. I’m going to go to prison. My life is over.” He gulped down the pain killers miserably.

“It’s not the end of the world,” a new voice interrupted. Patrick looked to his side to see the ghostly figure Brendon Urie sitting down next to him - Patrick’s boyfriend before he was murdered. Sure, Brendon’s killer was sentenced to life in prison, but Brendon decided to hang around before heaven called him.

Oh, sorry, I didn’t mention that Patrick was a spirit medium.

He can see the dead.

It wasn’t so bad – Patrick could at least spend a bit more time with Brendon until he really had to go, and he had helped some of his friends talk to some of their dead relatives, but sometimes the dead _begged_ him to help them contact their still-living relatives, who of course couldn’t see them. Sometimes Patrick would help them, but sometimes it would drive Patrick up a wall.

Brendon tried to put an arm around Patrick, but of course forgetting that he was a ghost, his arm slipped through Patrick. Patrick shivered, and Brendon gave a sorry smile. He had to resort to just sitting right next to him.

“You’re still young. By the time you get out, you’ll still be able to continue your life. There might be some difficulty getting into it at first, but you’ll manage,” Brendon reassured him, adding a shrug at the end.

“I don’t want to be locked up away from all my family and friends, and from my whole life,” Patrick said, moaning again.

“Careful, with all your moans and groans the officers might think you’re masturbating or something,” Brendon said with a wink.

“Brendon!” Patrick hissed. Brendon laughed.

“Oh, I do love you, Stumpy,” he said, planting a ghostly kiss on Patrick’s cheek. Patrick shivered again.

“Why are ghosts so cold?” Patrick wondered.

“Technically, we’re done with this world, and we should be moving on to the next. Of course, those with a strong desire to stay do, but we don’t exactly belong here anymore. The coldness just kind of… reminds us of that,” Brendon finished with a sigh.

“If I go to jail, you’re not going to leave until I get out and be alright,” Patrick pointed out.

“So? Is there a problem with that?”

“I can’t keep you here! Not when I’m the only person you can talk to, and there’s a whole new life waiting for you up there!”

“Patrick Stumph?” Patrick jumped when the same officer who gave him the aspirin called him.

“I’ll see you later,” Brendon said, before disappearing. Patrick sighed, before regarding the officer.

“Yes?”

“We need to question you. If you wouldn’t mind coming through,” the officer said, opening the door.

“Sure,” Patrick said, standing up. The officer put a pair of handcuffs on Patrick and led him through the hall.

“Who were you talking to, by the way?” he asked.

“Oh, no one,” Patrick replied. The officer rose an eyebrow at him, but didn’t say anything.

A few days later, Patrick had to go to court. Patrick was nervous – he was terrified that he was going to go to prison for life, despite Brendon telling him there was no way he could get life for an accident. Patrick had retorted with that it was basically on purpose, since he was drunk. Brendon and Patrick had argued about this for a while, before agreeing that they’ll see how the trial turns out.

The big doors to the courtroom opened, and Patrick regarded it with fear. The big courtroom was intimidating, almost saying to Patrick that he was guilty, and that he deserved everything he had coming to him.

There were a few people in the gallery, and most of them stared at him with barely contained distain. Patrick didn’t blame them, he was disgusting with himself. Those who simple looked at him were a couple of Patrick’s friends, and Brendon. When Patrick caught sight of Brendon, Brendon smiled and gave him a thumbs up. Patrick smiled a little, then was made to be seated at the defendant’s chair.

“All rise for the judge,” the bailiff said, the doors opening for the judge. Everyone stood up, watching the judge entering and making her way to the judge’s stand.

“Everybody may be seated,” the judge said. Everybody sat down, looking at the judge. “We are here for the trial of Patrick Martin Stumph, who faces charges of Driving Under Influence, and Vehicular Homicide. The prosecution may make their opening statement.”

“Thank you,” the prosecuting attorney, a small woman by the name of Isabelle Jones, said. She stood up, a few papers in her hand. “Patrick Stumph crashed into Michael Way’s car on Route 90, on the night of the 22nd of October, at approximately 7pm. Stumph made a call to the emergency lines and requested an ambulance for Way. Medics arrived, along with the police, who arrested him when they tested his Blood Alcohol Content, which was one-point-seven. Here is the breathalyser report.” Isabelle gave a small folder to the bailiff, who gave it to the judge. “Michael Way was taken to the Northwestern Memorial Hospital, and was treated for brain and spleen haemorrhaging. Unfortunately, he went into cardiac arrest in the early hours of the morning, and the medical staff were unable to resuscitate him. Michael Way was pronounced dead at six minutes past five in the morning.”

“Thank you, Miss Jones. How does the defendant plead for all charges?”

“The defendant pleads guilty for Driving Under Influence, and not guilty for Vehicular Homicide,” Patrick’s lawyer stated.

The gallery started chattering amongst themselves.

“There’s no way he’s going to get away with killing Mikey,” Pete whispered to Gerard.

“I hope not. The law is too harsh for that,” Gerard replied.

“If we listen, we’ll probably see that they have a reasonable defence for it,” Ray, who had decided to come along, said.

“Shut up,” Pete growled, without looking at Ray.

“Order in the courtroom!” the judge ordered, banging her gavel. The noise died down, allowing the trial to continue. “Thank you. What evidence do you have against the charge of Vehicular Homicide?”

“The defence wants to prove that negligence at the hospital is what caused Mr. Way’s untimely demise…”

Patrick decided not to listen anymore. His lawyer was quite proud of his findings when he investigated what happened at the hospital, but in truth, Patrick felt that he should be sent to prison on full charges. He caused a death, and he should feel the whole weight of the law. He secretly hoped that the prosecution would stand her ground, and fight back fiercely. He hoped that she could prove his lawyer wrong. Patrick knew what it was like to lose someone in circumstances similar to Mikey’s, with Brendon. He knew what Mikey’s friends and family were going through, and how they probably hoped that Patrick would be locked up for a long time. Patrick remembered the massive relief he felt when Brendon’s killer was sentenced to life without parole. He remembered the relief on knowing that Brendon’s killer wasn’t going to claim any more lives – especially Patrick’s.

Brendon’s killer was Brendon’s crazy ex-boyfriend, Ryan Ross. He was incredibly jealous when Brendon broke up with him to be with Patrick, and decided that if Brendon wasn’t going to be with him, nobody could have him. Ryan killed Brendon, and was about to kill Patrick when the police managed to stop him.

A morbid part of Patrick wished that Ryan got the death penalty. But then again, since he was going to spend the rest of his life in prison, he was going to suffer for a long time.

“This court grants a 15 minute recess,” the judge said, slamming her gavel down. Patrick was snapped out of his thoughts when the bailiffs lifted him out of the chair. He was escorted back to the defence lobby.

“I think I’ve been managing to sway the prosecution, don’t you think Patrick?” his lawyer asked him.

“Yep. You’ve been doing a great job so far, and I’m so grateful,” Patrick lied. He didn’t want to put a damper on his lawyer’s spirits by saying that he hadn’t been paying attention. “Excuse me bailiff, could you escort me to the bathroom please?”

“Fine,” the bailiff grunted, grabbing Patrick’s arm and dragging him off.

“Here you are, and no funny business,” the bailiff said as they stood in front of the bathroom door.

“Are you, um, gonna take my handcuffs off?” Patrick asked nervously.

“Nope. You’re just going to have to do your business like that,” the bailiff said with a smirk. Patrick sighed, and entered the bathroom.

“Hey sexy,” Brendon greeted him, as soon as Patrick saw him. Patrick visibly jumped.

“You scared the heck out of me, Brendon,” Patrick complained, making his way to one of the urinals. Brendon laughed.

“Good! That was the point! Anyway, the trial is going pretty good so far, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, pretty good,” Patrick replied glumly.

“Hey, turn that frown upside-down! It’s a good thing, right?”

“I’m undecided. On one side, I want to get off as lightly as I can, but then I want to go to jail and serve as much time as possible.”

“That’s messed-up.” Brendon frowned. “Well, I’m rooting for you to be free as soon as possible.”

“Thanks,” Patrick said, as he zipped up his pants. “’Cause sometimes I’m not.”

“Hey, I love you, Stumpy. And also, who _can’t_ root for you? You’re too adorable!” Patrick blushed.

“I love you too, B-den.” He sighed. “God, I miss you so much sometimes.”

“Yeah, being a ghost isn’t exactly the best, but at least we can still talk! And when the time is right, I’ll move on, and you’ll find somebody else to love. I’ll probably find someone in heaven.”

“I don’t want anybody else, though. I want you.” Patrick’s eyes decided to betray him, and a few tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Oh, Stumpy, please don’t cry.” Brendon walked over to where Patrick was washing his hands, and looked at his ex-boyfriend in the eyes. Well, in many ways, they still considered themselves to be together. “I have to move on someday, whether we both like it or not. And you can’t keep missing me. I want you to find someone else, so you can be happy. And I know it will hurt me a little, I can’t deny that, but as long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”

“If you love me, let me go,” Patrick remembered.

“’Cause these words are knives,” Brendon continued.

“And often leave scars.”

“The fear of falling apart.”

“And truth be told I never was yours, the fear, the fear of falling apart.” By the end, Patrick and Brendon were harmonising together.

“Your lyrics are awesome,” Patrick said.

“Thanks. But I think you need to get back to the courtroom.”

“I’ll see you later, B-den. I love you.”

“I love you too, Stumpy.”

Patrick emerged from the bathroom to find a very bored bailiff waiting for him, who regarded Patrick with an odd look.

“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing a hold of Patrick, leading him back into the courtroom.

“This court is now back in session,” the judge said, banging her gavel. “We shall continue…”

Patrick yet again tuned out, hoping that he could just skip to the verdict.

“In the light of all evidence, this court is ready to make a decision.” Patrick rose his head, regarding the judge. “This court finds Patrick Stumph guilty of Driving Under Influence, and not guilty for Vehicular Homicide. A date shall be decided soon, to try Patrick Stumph for DUI bodily harm. This court is adjourned.”

Patrick had mixed feelings. He was glad that he wasn’t being convicted for the worst offence, but shouldn’t he have been? Surely his lawyer exploited a couple of loopholes to get him that verdict.

“That’s not fair! He killed Mikey! He’s a murderer!” someone screamed from the gallery. Everyone turned around to see the source of the accusations. He was a short man, almost as short as Patrick, who had black ‘emo’ hair, tanned skin, and was wearing a suit. “I’m going to appeal! This isn’t fair!” A bailiff approached the screaming man, and started to drag him out of the gallery. “You will be going to jail for a long time, Stumph! This isn’t over!” The bailiff finally managed to throw him out of the courtroom, much to the relief of many people.

“Come on, let’s go,” the bailiff beside Patrick said, and Patrick let him lead him out of the courtroom.

What a shitty day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have NOTHING against Ryan Ross, just saiyen'


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter, but with lots of feels :(

“This is bullshit,” Pete growled, as soon as Gerard, Frank and Ray returned from the courtroom.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Pete,” Gerard said in a warning tone. “If you do that again, they probably won’t let you watch any more trials. You have to watch yourself.”

“But this is wrong, all wrong! He needs to be fully convicted!”

“But it wasn’t his fault that Mikey died. The defence was right to put some of the blame on the hospital. They didn’t detect the liver haemorrhaging, which led to the cardiac arrest. You can’t blame Stumph for that,” Ray said.

“I don’t care! If he wasn’t on the road _drunk_ in the fucking first place, none of this would be happening!” Suddenly, all the anger drained from Pete. “He would still be with us. With me.”

“Pete,” Gerard said, approaching the shorter man. “This is difficult for me too, but we have to stay strong. The law will make sure to punish Patrick for everything that he needs to be punished for, nothing more, nothing less.”

“But he killed Mikey…”

“Gee’s right, Pete. And if Gee can believe that, so can you,” Frank said. Pete sighed.

“Whatever. I’m going home. I’ll see you guys at the next trial.” Pete walked off quickly, not wanting to talk to anyone anymore.

* * *

 

A couple of days later, Pete was adjusting his black tie in the mirror, dreading the event that was coming up. He heard the doorbell ring, which meant that Gerard was here.

Pete sighed, fiddling with his cuffs. It was going to be difficult for him, but he had to go. For Mikey.

He turned around and exited his bedroom, going down the stairs slowly. Gerard rang the doorbell again, signalling that he was getting impatient. Pete sighed then hurried up, getting to his front door and opening it.

“Hey Pete,” Gerard greeted, “Are you ready?”

“Not really,” Pete replied truthfully, “But I have to do this. We all have to do this.”

“Yeah,” Gerard agreed, “Let’s go.” Pete followed Gerard into his car.

“Is the cemetery nice, at least?” Pete asked.

“Yeah. I made sure to get Mikey a really nice spot,” Gerard replied, “Under a beautiful cork tree, actually.”

“That sounds nice,” Pete commented, not really into the conversation.

“It is. You’ll see.” The rest of the conversation went by in silence, Pete not really wanting to talk.

They arrived at the Graceland Cemetery. Pete got out of the car solemnly, following Gerard into the church. He sat next to Gerard in one of the front pews, joining Frank, Ray, Mikey and Gerard’s parents, Joe – Pete’s best friend – and a few other people Pete didn’t recognise. Probably more relatives of Mikey’s.

Pete saw the coffin behind the podium, and Pete had to bite back tears when he realised that it was Mikey’s coffin. He couldn’t believe that Mikey was just over there… yet he was dead.

The pastor made his way over to the front of the church, standing up at the podium.

“We are gathered here today to mourn the passing of a great friend, brother, son, and lover. The good lord said…”

Pete wasn’t very religious, and he couldn’t stand to listen to some crap about when Jesus was killed he was resurrected three days later to ascend heaven, or something like that. He didn’t really care. Mikey wasn’t coming back.

“I believe some family and friends want to say a few words about Mikey.”

“You go, Pete,” Gerard whispered. Pete took a shaky breath, then stood up and walked over to the podium.

“I… miss you,” Pete began, trying not to cry. “I miss everything about you. Your smile, your bass playing, your eyes, your kisses goodnight… I miss my teddy bear. You were my world, my rock, the one I could always rely on. Even if we had an argument, which I always knew we would resolve, my love could never waver. You were my inspiration, my dream come true, my paradise. I never got to say this, but… I love you. I love you with all my heart, and I regret that I never said that to you. I just hope that wherever you are now, wherever you went, I hope you’re happy. I hope you’re not in pain. Thank you.”

Everyone clapped for him, as Pete said down again. He wiped his tears away, sniffing. Gerard put an arm around him in a side hug, then stood up.

“That was great, man,” Gerard said, his eyes glossy. He stood up at the podium, and began. “Mikey was my little brother, my bandmate, and best friend. I knew him since he was a baby…”

Pete silently sobbed, mourning for his dead boyfriend. He felt Joe wrap his arm around him, trying to give him some comfort. But Pete couldn’t care. He felt the darkness of his soul open the floodgates of grief, the sadness rushing over Pete so quickly that Pete choked with the intensity of it. More tears produced in earnest as all Pete wanted to do is curl up into a ball and cry, cry and cry until he wasted away, and could join Mikey in whatever afterlife there may be. Pete could feel his heart ripping apart.

This is it. This is a reality.

Mikey was dead.

The rest of the service passed by slowly for Pete, even though he wasn’t paying any attention to it. He didn’t register getting up to follow the coffin out of the church, following it through the graveyard as they carried Mikey to his final resting place. At least Gerard was right – it was such a beautiful spot under the cork tree. Mikey would have loved it.

Pete felt like throwing himself into the deep grave as the coffin was lowered into it. When it was lowered, he took a handful of dirt and sprinkled it on top. He then took a rose out of his pocket, and threw it on top of the coffin as well.

“My final gift, my love,” Pete whispered under his breath.

Pete decided to hang around until everyone had sprinkled dirt onto the coffin, and until the crowd disappeared. Gerard was the last to leave before Pete, who gave a knowing look to Pete, and said;

“I’ll be waiting by the car.”

Gerard’s eyes were red as well.

As soon as he was totally alone, Pete sat cross-legged in front of the grave, and took a deep breath.

“I know it wasn’t your fault, but I wish you didn’t leave me, Mikey,” Pete began. “I mean, bipolar disorder is bad enough by itself, but now that you’re gone… the depression times are just so bad I want to curl up and cry until I’m too tired to carry on, and the other day I exploded in the courtroom when the guy who crashed into you got away with manslaughter. I mean, that’s just bullshit, right?” Silence filled the air. “It’s probably not what you want, but I want that guy to get everything that he should get. He took you away from me, Mikey.” Pete’s eyes filled up with more tears. “I’m gonna go now. But I’ll be back. I’ll always be back, and you know it.” Pete stood up, and walked away, wiping away his tears.

What he wasn’t aware of was the ghostly presence of Mikey’s spirit around the grave, who was listening to everything Pete was saying. As Pete left, a chilly wind started to blow, and the spirit started to resemble Mikey. Finally, a pale figure that looked exactly like Mikey before he got into the car crash appeared, surrounded by a blue-ish aura. The ghost of Mikey watched as Pete walked away, sadness filling his heart.

“Pete, goddammit,” Mikey said, still watching his (ex?) boyfriend’s retreating back, “I have to contact him somehow…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the next chapter the rating is going to up to M, only because of some sexually embarrassing stuff. You'll know why if you know how prison goes.


	4. Chapter 4

Patrick was gazing out of the window of the prison bus. He was currently being driven to his new home for two years – the Metropolitan Correctional Centre. He was surrounded by some other recent convicts, who were exactly the kind of people that Patrick wanted to avoid.

Patrick had no idea how he was going to survive prison. He had heard the stories of how brutal life in prison was, how there were gangs, a black market, and rapes by sex-thirsty convicts. Patrick hoped that he could stay away from all of the nasty characters, and find a couple of decent friends. At least if it all went to hell, Patrick had ghosts to talk to.

 _And everyone will think I’m crazy,_ he thought.

The bus finally entered the gates of the medium-security prison, and already Patrick was getting scared. The tall building loomed menacingly over the incoming bus, looking unwelcoming with its barred windows.

Patrick was marched out of the bus and marched into the centre, and forced to line up.

 _I can’t believe I’m going to be spending two years here_ , Patrick thought sullenly. Along with the jail sentence, he had permanently lost his driving licence. He was almost sure that the guy who screamed at him at his first court hearing was going to file a civil case against him. Patrick groaned.

 _I’m so screwed._ He had to strip down until he was naked, and forced to stand in showers as he was sprayed down with disinfectant.

 _I feel disgusting._ He was sprayed down his back, and then, embarrassingly, his front. He had to line up again, still naked and dripping with disinfectant.

He was given new prison clothes and a towel. He toweled himself off, then got in line to be led to his new cell.

The warden led him to the cell, which was fairly bland and basic. There was a bed with only a sheet and one pillow, a toilet with a sink, and a desk with a chair. All features were either white or grey. He sat down on his bare bed as the warden locked him in.

_ Well, at least I don't have to share with anyone,  _ Patrick thought, sighing.

"What's up, Stumpy?" Brendon asked, making Patrick jump.

"You scared the crap out of me," Patrick commented, shaking his head. “So this is it, huh?” 

“It’s not so bad,” Brendon replied, “You’ll only spend two years here. It’s better than 15 or 20 years you were up for if you were convicted for Vehicular Homicide.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Then Patrick had a thought. “Wait, isn’t this the same prison Ryan was convicted into?” Brendon snorted.

“Nope. Ryan is tightly locked up in a maximum security prison, and you’re only in medium security, Stumpy. You won’t ever see Ryan around here.”

“Good,” Patrick mumbled, lying down across the bed. “I guess it’s pretty cool that I have a room to myself. At least I can talk to you without any of my bunkmates thinking I’m going crazy.”

“Maybe you are,” Brendon teased, “Maybe I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

“Right, and every other ghost I’ve talked to and help communicate with the living.”

“Aw, I was just teasing. It’s pretty cool you can see us, though.”

“Yeah. I don’t mind it most days.” Patrick sighed. “I wish I had a book or something to read, I can’t talk to you forever.”

“Aww, you’re getting sick of me already?”

“That isn’t what I mean-“

“Yeah, I know. I hear that when you get a prison job, you can earn a bit of cash to buy goods with. So you’ll have to get working, Stumpy.”

“Yay.”

“Aw, don’t be so down. At least I’m here.” Brendon then proceeded to hover over Patrick, cross-legged, and wiggling his eyebrows. “Maybe we can have some ghostly se-“

“Brendon!” Brendon laughed.

“I’m only joking. I’m pretty sure it’s not possible, anyways.”

“If it were, we would have done it by now.”

“True.” Brendon floated down, lying down onto his side, facing Patrick. “This really isn’t so bad, Stumpy.”

"You know that first impressions are everything? Well, I already know that this is going to be hell on earth."

“I guess. But it can't be  _that_ bad."

Patrick prayed that Brendon was right.

* * *

 

Later that night, Patrick was trying to get to sleep, when he suddenly felt a ghostly presence. He sat upright, a little pissed off that Brendon appeared right now.

“Brendon, I’m trying to-“ He gasped when he saw who it was. It was that man he killed – Mikey Way. Of course, now he looked less like he had injuries, and looked simply as he was before Patrick drove into him.

“Listen, I’m really sorry, Michael – Mikey? I swear it was an accident, and I really didn’t mean to kill you-“

“I’m not here for an apology. I know what happened, I know how I died, and I’m done with that part of my life. Well, the last part of my life. Anyway, I need your help.”

“I can’t exactly do much from a prison cell.”

“Well, get creative then. You kind of owe it to me.”

“…I won’t argue with that.”

“Pete wants to see you as soon as he can, probably to scream and shout at you. You need to let me talk to him.”

“Who’s Pete?”

“Short guy, black hair, often wears eyeliner, and he’s my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. However you look at it.”

“…I don’t think he can see ghosts.”

“Well, obviously, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. I want to possess you. That’s possible, as far as other ghosts have told me.”

“There’s no way I’m going to let you take control of my body! I’ve been violated enough for one lifetime.”

“Well, again, you do owe me, for killing me and all that. Also, there’s no way in hell Pete will believe you if you try and just relay a message. He’s got to see it to believe it.”

“Well… ugh, can I think about it? I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Fine, but you better decide soon. I can’t influence when Pete will come and see you.

“Okay. Can you go away now? I want to sleep.”

“Wow, so hospitable. Okay, I’m going.” Mikey’s ghost then disappeared. Patrick sighed, then lay back down on his bed.

“Holy smokes, I’m in trouble…” he murmured.

* * *

 

The next day, after Patrick got back from his prison job, he sat down on his bed and waaited for Brendon to finally appear.

“Looking for me?” he suddenly asked, appearing right beside Patrick. Patrick gave off a startled noise, jumping a little.

“There you are. And yes, I have been waiting for you to make an appearance,” Patrick replied, scowling.

“Aww, I didn’t realise that Stumpy would miss me so much!” Brendon reached out to pinch his cheek, though he hand fell through Patrick’s face. Patrick shivered with the coldness of it.

“Why do people always want to pinch my cheeks?” Patrick scowled.

“Because they are so fat, and so nice to pinch!” Brendon replied. “And damn, do I miss those cheeks.” Patrick rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I wanted to ask you something,” Patrick began.

“Yes? More stories on the ghost life?”

“Something like that. Anyway, Mikey has come to me as a ghost and asked to possess me in order to talk to his boyfriend.”

“Mikey’s the dude you managed to crash into, right?”

“Yep… he’s the reason I’m in here.”

“Wow, I wouldn’t say he’s the reason. I’d say your stupidity was the reason.”

“Point taken. Anyway, I wanted to know about… this possession thing.”

“Well, I haven’t exactly done it myself, but I’ve heard from other ghosts that it feels really nice to be able to take control of someone. Basically, when a ghost takes control of you, they overpower your soul, then take over the leftover body. Then, they can resume living your life as if nothing ever happened. It is possible for the original owner to overpower the spirit if it gets enough energy, but otherwise the invading spirit will continue living with the body until it either lets it go or the body dies. If the invading spirit stays for too long, it can either kill the original soul, or the body will simply die because of the two spirits in it. It’s too much energy for the body to handle.”

“Sounds pretty grim,” Patrick commented, which a grimace.

“Yeah, but Mikey seems like an okay guy, who just wants to talk to his boyfriend. Who is really pissed at you, by the way.”

“I gathered.”

“So yeah, that’s basically what it is.”

“Can you… possess me? I want to see what it’s like.” At this, Brendon’s eyes widened.

“Are you sure? You trust me to do that?”

“I’ve been trusting you a long time before you died, Brendon. Of course I trust you to do this.”

“Well, then, okay… I can try. Are you ready for this?”

“Yes.” Brendon took a deep breath, along with Patrick, then Brendon slowly sank his hand into Patrick. Immediately, Patrick felt like he was in a chokehold, and Brendon must have seen that panic, and immediately pulled out.

“Are you okay? Are you sure you can do this?”

“Do it.” Patrick gritted his teeth, then Brendon started reaching into himself again. Patrick could feel Brendon’s cautious spirit, testing his, trying to beat it down. Patrick let himself be beat down. He had to do it. He started to feel paralysed, unable to move any of his limbs, as Patrick’s soul started to fall into a deep, dark place. He lost all of his senses, and all he was aware of was the surrounding darkness around his soul.

“Are you okay?” Brendon said. Patrick barely heard him. “It’s okay, Patrick. It’s okay.” Suddenly, Patrick’s vision returned, and he could see through the eyes of his body, but he was aware that he couldn’t control himself anymore. He felt completely paralysed.

“I’m okay,” Patrick said, feeling a bit calmer. It was frightening at first, but at the end of it, it wasn’t actually that bad. “This feels really weird.”

“You and me both, Stumpy.” From what he could see, Patrick watched as Brendon moved his hands in front of his face, examining them. “Wow. I just feel… alive again.” Patrick felt the incoming waves of sadness washing over both his and Brendon’s souls.

“I’m sorry, Brendon,” Patrick whispered.

“It’s okay,” Brendon replied, still feeling sad. “It’s time to let go, anyway.” All in a rush, Patrick regained control of his whole body again, and he could feel the clothes on his skin again, and smell that dank smell of his cell. When Patrick caught his breath, he looked at Brendon, who was standing in front of him, a sad look on his face.

“Thank you, Brendon,” Patrick said. Brendon smiled, but it still looked sad.

“Anything for you, Stumpy,” Brendon replied. “I’ll see you later.” Then Brendon disappeared.

Patrick sighed. He had no idea what it was like to be dead, but to have a taste of life again, only for it to be ripped away… Patrick could understand why Brendon felt sad.

Patrick sighed again, then lay down on his bed. His prison time was going to be a long one, as Mikey stays around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editing notes: Edited this so I can get this back down to a T-rating.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was my birthday yesterday ^.^ (4th November) anyways here's a new chapter!

A week later, Patrick was seated on one side of a glass panel, in the visitor’s meeting room. He nervously played with the telephone, anticipating what was going to come. Today was the day Patrick got to meet Pete, the infamous boyfriend of Mikey’s. He could Mikey’s presence in the room behind him, waiting. He was hoping to get the possession over and done with – he didn’t really want to have his soul stuffed down for too long. Also, he didn’t really want to be in the same room as Pete for long. From what Mikey told him, he’s pretty sure that Pete absolutely hates him.

The door on the wall of the other side of the room opened, and Patrick got to see Pete for the first time.

And his jaw nearly dropped.

Pete had black messy hair, tanned skin, a tight black t-shirt that showed off his biceps and abs, along with the beautiful tattoos on his arms, and wore black jeans and eyeliner.

This was Mikey’s boyfriend?! And he was gay?!

Yeah, it would all be okay, if Patrick wasn’t a convicted criminal whose guts were hated by Pete.

Patrick took a deep breath as Pete sat down, and picked up the telephone on his side. Patrick put the phone he was fiddling with to his ear.

“Hello?” Patrick asked cautiously. Patrick didn’t want to meet Pete’s eyes – he knew he would only be rewarded with a cold look.

“Meet my eyes you coward,” Pete immediately said. Patrick did.

Pete’s eyes were deep brown – beautiful, in a way – but the corneas were bloodshot – a tell-tale sign that Pete had been crying a lot. Pete had deep black marks under his eyes, signalling that he hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep in recent days. If Patrick had half a chance, he would hit the bullseye on the cause.

“Why did you want to see me?” Patrick asked.

“To see justice,” Pete replied. Patrick gulped.

“Well, I’m in prison, and I’m miserable. I miss my family, my friends – even those who left me behind at that party… and even the odd jobs I do at stores. I miss my apartment, my video games and my cat. Are you happy yet?”

“And I miss Mikey.” Patrick’s heart wrenched, and he wanted nothing more than to comfort Pete. Except he was the cause of that pain.

“If I could do that night over, I would have never gotten behind of that van drunk, no matter what. I probably wouldn’t have gone to the party. I never wanted to hurt anybody. I never thought in a million years this would happen. I know just saying sorry isn’t enough, but I want to offer that to you anyway. I am _so sorry._ ”

“Well, Mikey’s dead!” Patrick sighed, putting a hand on his face for a moment. He felt Mikey moving, and looked at him. Mikey walked by his side.

“I think it’s time I talked to him,” Mikey said.

“Okay, just a minute.” Patrick put his attention back on Pete. “I can help you, Pete. I’m a spirit medium. I can contact Mikey’s spirit.”

“Bullshit. Don’t do this to me.”

“I’m not joking. His spirit is in this room, watching you right now.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, I guess Mikey wasn’t lying when he said you have to see it to believe it.” Patrick put down the phone, then took a deep breath. He looked at Mikey. “Do it.”

Mikey didn’t need to be told twice. He entered Patrick’s body, Patrick’s soul choking as it went into the depths of wherever. His body arched over, clearly in pain after having another soul enter it. Pete widened his eyes as he saw what was happening.

“You have to help him!” Pete said, without thinking. Two of the guards rushed over, restraining Patrick by either side. Patrick finally went limp, but when he opened his eyes, he was no longer Patrick.

He had Mikey’s eyes.

It’s true that a pair of eyes are the windows to a person’s soul. Thus, they change depending on the soul inhabiting it. Currently, ‘Patrick’ had brown eyes, much like Pete’s. ‘Patrick’ looked Pete in his eyes, and Pete gasped as he immediately recognised them.

“When we first went out, we went to see Fast and Furious 7. We could only afford one small box of popcorn and we argued over what seasoning to put on it. I wanted sour cream and chives, while you wanted salt and vinegar. We ended up having butter, because we knocked the salt and vinegar container over, and spilt it all over the floor. We were about to be kicked out of the cinema, so I grabbed the nearest container – butter – sprinkled some of it onto the popcorn, then we both made a dash for the screen. But then we went into the wrong room, and we were forced to watch through Frozen. We ended up abandoning our popcorn half-way through the show in favour of making out. When you dropped me off back home, you said to me ‘that date was chaotic, but it was a beautiful kind of chaos, just like the both of us.’ We made out on the driveway before Gerard screamed at me to get inside.” Pete was stunned as the words flew perfectly out of ‘Patrick’s’ mouth. God, he sounded like Mikey.

“Mikey…?” Pete cautiously asked. Mikey gave a warm smile.

“It’s me, Peter Panda.” Fresh tears spilled from Pete’s eyes.

“I can’t believe it. He was telling the truth.” Carefully, the guards released Mikey, and stepped back to their places.

“I know you would find it hard to believe, that’s why I knew I had to possess Patrick.”

“So… you’re a ghost, now?”

“Yep. I can’t move on to the next world until I’m completely done here. So you have to listen up, Pete. You can’t keep being sad, or angry at Patrick. Please, make friends with him, if you can. I’m dead now, and soon I’ll be long gone. You can’t keep mourning me forever. You can’t stop your whole life. I will always love you, and I know you will always love me, but make room in your heart for someone else. You’re going to need it.” Mikey put his borrowed hand on the glass, wishing that he could hold Pete. “I don’t want to keep seeing my Peter Panda sad all the time.”

“But I only want you, Mikey,” Pete choked.

“I know my death wasn’t exactly… timely, but we all die someday. I just happened to be sooner, rather than later. Please Panda, you have to try. For me.” Pete wiped his eyes.

“Can I talk to you again?”

“Of course. I’m still going to be around for a while, and I won’t go until we properly say goodbye. But please, be nice to Patrick. I have to get out of his body now – his soul is getting restless, and I think I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’ll see you later, Panda.” Mikey’s eyes closed, then scrunched up in pain. Mikey leant forward and put his hands on the table, steadying himself. When he opened his eyes, he was Patrick again. Patrick put his hands in front of his face and wiggled his fingers.

“I hope you had a good chat with Mikey,” Patrick said, seeing Pete’s teary eyes. Pete nodded.

“Yes. Thank you. God, I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Most people don’t.” Patrick winked. “Only the special ones do.”

“It’s kinda cool, though. What is it like?”

“Well, it’s cool because I can help some of my friends talk to their dead relatives or friends, and since my boyfriend died a year ago, I’ve managed to stay in contact with him.” Pete took a breath. He didn’t know Patrick was gay – and that his boyfriend was dead too. “But sometimes some ghosts will harass you to get you to help them. Sometimes I help them, but sometimes not. I have a small business for my spirit medium services, but I don’t make enough money to get by, so I have extra jobs as well. And the possession thing is kind of crappy. Imagine being choked for about 20 seconds, then when you’re released, you can’t feel anything, and you can only hear and see the outside world, and you’re watching someone else use your body. It’s not exactly the best, but I did it for Mikey because, well, I owe it to him. And to you.”

“And you have no idea how grateful I truly am.”

“You should be, it’s horrible.” Both of them laughed.

“Time’s up, guys,” one of the guards said, walking to Patrick’s side to escort him out.

“I’ll see you soon, I hope,” Patrick said.

“Yep. Definitely,” Pete replied.

When Patrick was out of the room, he smiled to himself. Maybe this was the beginning of a friendship.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a cover for this book! I'm going to post it on deviantart soon, and I'll put the link in the notes of the next chapter (which will come in a day or so, hopefully.)

“You have to do this for me.”

“Not right now,” Patrick groaned, covering his face with his arms. He was currently trying to take a nap, but Mikey wouldn’t stop bothering him.

“Fine, but you will do it, right?”

“Yes, I will, now can you let me sleep now?” There was silence for a moment, and Patrick knew he had overstepped some social boundary, as he could still sense Mikey’s presence in the room. Patrick sighed, then sat up on his bed. “Where can I get some paper and a pen?” Mikey immediately grinned.

“Just asked the warden, I’m sure he’ll get you some.” Patrick got up from the bed, then opened his cell door.

“Excuse me?” Patrick said to one of the wondering wardens. “Can I please get some paper and a pen? I’d like to write a letter.”

“Sure, but just be warned, we check all letters prison inmates send out,” the warden said, then produced a pen from his pocket. “I’ll get you some paper now.”

“Thank you,” Patrick thanked, then retreated back to his cell. “So,” Patrick began, now talking to Mikey, “Do I just say that I’m a spirit medium and that I have a message beyond the dead? I’m sure he’s going to take that well.”

“I thought that maybe you could have said that you were friends with me, and that you have a message from me in case I die, but there’s no way in hell Gerard is going to believe that,” Mikey replied, “So yeah. You’re just going to have to be straight with him.”

“Great,” Patrick mumbled, “More and more people get to know I’m a spirit medium every day.”

“You do have a spirit medium business,” Mikey pointed out.

“Yeah, but these people know that I’m genuine. I don’t know, it’s fairly unsettling for me.”

“Well, whatever.” There was a knock on Patrick’s cell door.

“I have the paper for you,” the warden called.

“Thanks,” Patrick said, as he opened the door to get the paper. He got it, then sat down at his small desk. “I’ll just begin with something like I’m a spirit medium, then I can write down your message.”

“Okay,” Mikey replied idly.

“Wait, what is his address?”

“17 Glenview Road, Chicago, Illinois, 298-928.”

“Ah, cool.” Patrick’s pen furiously scribbled. “Dear Gerard Way,” Patrick mumbled. “I am writing you from my prison cell to say that I am extremely sorry for accidentally killing your brother, and that no amount of words could ever express how truly sorry I am, and how much I regret my actions. Wow, I don’t think that he’ll think that I mean this,” Patrick said, scratching his head.

“At least you are offering some sort of apology,” Mikey replied, with a shrug.

“Anyway, I’ll just continue… The reason I am writing to you is that I am a spirit medium, and I can communicate with the dead. I’m about to write down a message from Mikey. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Pete. He has seen what I can do. Okay, that’s your cue, Mikey,” Patrick said, looking up expectantly at Mikey.

“Okay, um… I haven’t thought this out properly. Okay, let’s see… To my big bro. It sucks being dead, and still hanging around as a ghost, but… it happens. I know you miss me, and I’m going to hang around a bit so you can see me. Well, see me through Patrick, if you come and visit him in prison. I know you miss me, and I miss you too, along with everyone else. Wow, this sounds lame.”

“Just keep going.”

“Uh… Don’t worry about me, don’t cry too much, I still love you. See you soon.”

“Is that it?”

“Yeah, that should be cool. Read it back to me?”

Patrick did.

“Sounds lame, but Gerard will know that it’s me. Okay, send it off. Oh, wait! Ask him to bring some pen and paper.”

“…done, and done. So I guess I should be expecting a visit from him, huh?”

“Yep, knowing him.”

A week later, Patrick was being marched into the meeting room. He knew exactly who he was going to see.

A minute later, his suspicions were confirmed when Gerard sauntered into the room. He sat down and immediately picked up the phone.

“You better not be bullshitting,” he said to Patrick.

“Wow, nice to see you too, Way. And if you’re talking about the whole spirit medium thing, yeah, I’m not bullshitting. I suppose you want me to demonstrate?”

“No, I want to sit and have some nice afternoon tea with you. Of course I want you to demonstrate!”

“Sassy,” Patrick said under his breath, as he put down the phone.

“Yep, that’s my brother,” Mikey said, laughing.

“I kind of guessed. Are you ready or not?”

“I’m more than ready.” Patrick braced himself, and closed his eyes as he felt Mikey’s spirit entering his body.

“Mikey?” Gerard asked carefully, almost fearfully, as Mikey opened the eyes of his borrowed body.

“Yep. It’s me, bro,” Mikey replied, a small smile gracing the corners of his borrowed body’s mouth. Gerard just stared at him, open-mouthed, a tear rolling down his cheek.

“Wow… I mean… I wasn’t sure if it could be true… after the letter, I immediately phoned Pete to see if it was true. He assured me it was, but… I thought that maybe we both had been duped, but… I can see. It’s you, Mikey.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to cry?” Mikey said cheekily, observing the small beads of water cascading down his brother’s face.

“I know, but…” Gerard shook his head, then wiped his tears away. “It’s just so much to take in. You’re alive… in a way.”

“Technically my body is dead, my soul is alive. It’s kinda weird being a ghost. It’s cold, a lot of the time, and the whole world is muted, in a way. Colours are duller, sounds are quieter, that kind of stuff. It only all comes back if I possess someone. In this case, Patrick.”

“Do you know much about Patrick?”

“No, not really. Just realised that he could see me, and that was it.”

“How long are you sticking around?”

“Until I get everything done, I guess.”

“What are you going to get done?”

“Well, make sure you and Pete are okay without me, I guess. Talk to my friends. Maybe pay a visit to my ex-girlfriend, and play a prank on her or something. Talk to mom. Write a message to my fans. Oh, that reminds me, did you bring the paper?”

“Oh, yeah, I did.” Gerard dug into his backpack that was on the floor, and pulled out a notepad and pen. “Are you going to tell them all about the ghost business?”

“Nah, of course not. This is going to be kinda short. Okay, here we go.” Gerard had his pen poised, waiting. “To my fans, this is a message to be released in the event of my early death, by suicide or otherwise.” Gerard grimaced a bit while writing the last bit. “Thank you for supporting me and my band for the years I’ve been a part of it. Your support was invaluable for our success. I hope that you can support My Chemical Romance in the years to come. Remember that I love each and every one of you. Mikey.”

“Is that is?” Gerard asked when he finished writing.

“Yep. That’s one more off my list.”

“So, you want to see Mom soon, and I guess Ray, Spencer, James and Jon?”

“Yeah. I guess they’re going to get to know this whole ghost business as well.” Mikey choked for a minute, as he felt Patrick’s soul rise up against him momentarily.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Patrick threw a bit of a bitch fit, I think.” In response, Patrick’s soul pushed again. “Okay, okay! Shortie. I think he wants me to get out. See you later, brother.”

“Wait! Can we talk again?”

“Of course. Just come whenever, I guess. Okay, okay, I’ll let you out now! See you later, Gee.” Mikey’s eyes closed, and Patrick’s body slumped over for a few seconds, before groaning, and opening his eyes.

“Good talk?” Patrick asked.

“Yeah. We have to do that again sometime.”

“Sure. Just come any time. It’s not like I’ll be busy or anything.” Both men laughed.

“But seriously, thank you. I’ll be back again sometime. And I suppose Ray will want to come, and Mom. Anyway, see you soon,” Gerard said, getting up out of chair.

“It’s the least I can do.” Patrick let himself be escorted out of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a bit of fun with this chapter, and really exploring Pete's grief, and some stuff about Mikey. There's a bit of development here, I feel. Next chapter, Patrick and Pete are going to meet again :P
> 
> Oh, also here is the cover: http://pika-bliss.deviantart.com/art/I-can-see-the-guy-I-accidentally-killed-cover-570946362

It has been a little over two months since Mikey had died, and Pete’s life has returned to normal. Well, normal as far as the public’s eye has seen. All of Pete’s friends could only see that Pete had returned to work at his record label, Decaydance, and the business has been going good. Pete was offered by Ray, Frank and Gerard to go and play bass with them, but Pete had vehemently declined, saying that no one could ever replace Mikey. Gerard and the others had been disheartened, but accepted and moved on to try and find a different replacement. Pete was right, no one could replace Mikey, but My Chemical Romance still needed a bass player. Pete didn’t really care.

His business was okay, his workers are happy, his friends are seemingly unconcerned (after all the nagging his friends did to see if Pete was really okay, which resulted in Pete just asking them to stop) and the world keeps turning.

But when Pete gets home, things really hit hard.

The house seems empty and lifeless without Mikey. Pete usually tried to just sit down and watch TV, or do some paperwork, but he couldn’t bear it without his arm slung around Mikey, or Mikey nagging him to come to bed, saying that it’s getting late. Pete’s bed seems too big and spacious nowadays.

 _No, it’s not my bed,_ Pete thought, _It’s_ our _bed._

Granted, Pete had talked to Mikey (through Patrick) a couple of times, but it wasn’t the same. The house was still too empty. Pete couldn’t touch Mikey. He was still so damn _lonely._

Pete once had a fleeting thought of conjugally visiting Patrick, but then that would be asking too much of the kid.

But then again, he kinda deserves it.

 _No,_ Pete had thought, _That’s too far._ Sure, the kid was cute as hell, but he killed Mikey. He just wished that Patrick would be spending more time in prison.

God, Pete needed a drink.

And that’s what he always resorted to – alcohol. When the loneliness became just too much to bear. It wasn’t healthy, Pete knew, but he needed it. He’s probably going to need it for a while.

Pete trudged to the alcohol cabinet, and took out an unopened bottle of vodka. It was some of the strongest stuff Pete had, after that one bottle of whiskey that Pete drank half of on the first night without Mikey.

Pete took the cap off, and took a swig straight from the bottle.

Pete never really liked the taste of vodka, but right now, he just wanted the alcohol.

After the first few swigs, and the alcohol started to set in, Pete had, yet again, a thought of suicide.

It wasn’t helpful, especially with his bipolar disorder.

That reminds him, he hasn’t taken his medication tonight.

Oh well.

Too late now.

Pete took another dose of the vodka.

Somehow, Pete’s thoughts suddenly turned to his suicide attempt a couple of years ago. He was going through a bad time, he had recently been dumped by his ex-girlfriend, he was on bad terms with his family, and he friends didn’t seem to be interested in friendships at the moment. Pete partied a lot to get away from it, but on one lonely night, he stumbled into the parking lot of a motel. Pete barely remembers sitting under a lamppost, and looking over a bottle of Ativan. He barely remembers feeling like shit, completely lonely and without a cause. He barely remembers popping the top of and downing half of his remaining pills, dry.

That was when he met Mikey. He was half dead when Mikey found him, and Mikey immediately called an ambulance to take Pete to the hospital. Pete’s stomach was pumped, and he made a recovery within a week. Mikey wanted to spend some more time with Pete, to make sure that Pete was alright, and Pete didn’t mind because, well, he was lonely. Mikey helped him through that troubled time, and eventually they started dating. After a year they moved in together. They were happy. They lived in domestic bliss.

And now Mikey is gone.

Pete wondered where Mikey was right now, and whether or not if he was watching him right now.

Mikey would be very disappointed in how Pete is turning out.

Scratch that, he _is_ disappointed.

Pete still can’t wrap his head around the idea of ghosts and spirit mediums and shit. Like, he can’t deny that Patrick definitely channelled Mikey, but the idea is still a bit… foreign. It’s like being presented irrefutable evidence that aliens exist, though the thought of aliens was like a dream, unobtainable. And it being obtained is mind-blowing.

Patrick was definitely something, though. Pete couldn’t believe that he was a spirit medium – maybe he just got lucky. He had to admit that talking to Mikey was nice. Really nice. Though Pete still missed him.

God, Pete missed him.

 _Drink up,_ Pete thought sourly, and did so.

He was beginning to feel really dizzy now.

And what about Patrick? At first, Pete was unimaginably angry at him, for being the sole cause of Mikey’s death, but over the past month the anger had been muted, like it wasn’t there. Pete had no idea why. Was he… _forgiving_ Patrick?

But he had no reason to.

If he thought it over logically, Patrick had only injured Mikey… and by complete accident. There was no malice involved, and Patrick even had the decency to stop and call an ambulance. Logically, Pete should be pissed off at the hospital for their negligence.

Pete supposed that it was the grief talking.

Recently, Pete has been feeling kind of… okay, about Patrick? Pete wasn’t completely fine with Patrick, there was always an underlying feeling of hate and anger, but Pete had found himself more and more curious about Patrick.

Well, it has just been decided. Pete is drunk out of his wits.

Otherwise, why else would he be thinking that Patrick is ‘sort of okay?’

Pete wondered what Mikey was thinking, again, and what he thought about him. Pete felt pretty pathetic about himself.

It’s time to go to bed.

Pete tried screwing the cap back onto the bottle, though thanks to his state of drunkenness, he nearly knocked the whole bottle over. He resorted to leaving the cap on top, and then stood up from where he had been sitting at his kitchen table. Pete wobbled, but knew that he would get up the stairs – perhaps with a little difficulty, but he could do it.

Pete faced the stairs, and dragged himself up.

God, he was pathetic.

He got into his, their, Mikey’s bedroom, and didn’t bother taking off his clothes. He kicked off his shoes, and then wrapped himself in his duvet, pretending that he was wrapped up in Mikey.


	8. Chapter 8

Patrick had a busy week. He was full of endless visits by Mikey’s friends and family, and honestly, after housing another spirit every day, Patrick was exhausted. He was currently taking a nap on his bed, trying to regain the lost energy.

There was a knock on his cell door.

“Stump, Patrick? There’s another visitor for you.”

There was no reply from Patrick, who continued to snooze away.

“Stump?” His cell door opened a few inches, and a pair of eyes peeked into the opening. The guard saw that Patrick was asleep on his bed, relaxed, and fully entered the room. He shook Patrick awake. Patrick opened his eyes blearily, and looked at the guard with a sleep-ridden expression.

“Yeah?” he asked sleepily.

“There’s a visitor for you.”

“Who?”

“Pete Wentz.” Patrick groaned. He didn’t really want to deal with the angry and grieving boyfriend of Mikey’s.

“Okay. Coming now.” Patrick sat up on his bed, and rubbed his eyes as the guard exited the cell, to wait. Patrick shook his head to try and shake the sleepiness out of his head. He said to himself that it wouldn’t be bad, then finally stood up and walked out of the room. He let the guard take a hold of his wrists to put them in handcuffs, and then was dragged through the familiar route to the visiting room.

He sleepily walked in to the visiting room and sat down by his side of the window, picking up the telephone to talk to the waiting Pete Wentz on the other end.

“I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?” Pete asked teasingly, as a way of greeting.

“Yes, you did actually, I was taking a nap,” Patrick replied, only half joking.

“Anyway. I didn’t come to talk to Mikey,” Pete said. Patrick rose an eyebrow.

“Wow, really?” Patrick replied, not really believing it.

“Yeah. I wanted to… get to know you, actually,” Pete said, somewhat sheepish. Patrick’s eyebrow rose even more.

“And here I was thinking that you hate me,” Patrick said.

“Well, I dunno… I guess I’m having a change of heart.”

“Huh. So. What do you want to know?”

“Um… I didn’t get this far.” Pete grinned sheepishly. “Well… what did you do? Before you got convicted, of course.”

“I was a musician, actually. Small-time, of course. I played guitar and sang as some local bars and nightclubs, and other places.”

“That’s really cool, actually. I own a record label, actually. Were you any good?”

“I think so. I was in demand in and around town, and I was even given an offer to join a record label once, but I don’t really want to go big time.”

“If you’re that good, why not? You could be world-famous!”

“I’m really not looking for that kind of fame.”

“What? It doesn’t make any sense…”

“Uh… what kind of bands do you sign?”

“Mainly punk-rock bands, or bands that might be considered ‘emo’ but the general population.”

“Sounds like my kind of scene.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Some music I write… it’s kind of my own thing. I call it Soul Punk.” Patrick was blushing.

“I- I wanna hear it, when you get out.” Patrick’s eyebrows rose.

“Thanks, but I won’t sign onto your record label, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Well, I won’t force you…” Patrick’s eyes were suddenly drawn to Mikey’s presence in the room. Mikey was watching the whole exchange, with some interest in his eyes.

“Don’t look at us like that,” Patrick said, to Mikey. Pete was confused for a moment, then realised that Patrick must have been talking to Mikey.

“I guess that was Mikey,” Pete said, chuckling. Mikey looked at Pete warmly.

“I think that he’s making a new friend,” Mikey commented, with a chuckle.

“He said that he thinks you’re making a new friend,” Patrick relayed to Pete. Pete chuckled nervously.

“Yeah. Maybe I am.”

“So. What do you do in your spare time?”

“I play bass, write lyrics, socialise… that’s my life, I guess.”

“You write lyrics? Well, I do to… I don’t think they’re that good, though.”

“Aw, they can’t be that bad. Sing for me.”

“Well, uh, well… sure, I guess.” Patrick drummed his fingers on the counter, and started singing the first lyrics he thought of.

“ _I feel like I’m gonna explode,_  
Any moment,  
I’m ready to blow,  
I can’t stand it,  
I get so worried,  
I feel so alone,  
If I’m never your hero I can never let you down,  
And the siren’s going oh whoa oh oh, oh whoa oh,  
Oh whoa oh oh whoa.”

Patrick blushed when he finished, seeing Pete’s godsmacked face.

“It was perfect… like, everything. Your lyrics, and your voice… I never would have thought you had such a voice!” Patrick blushed even further. “As soon as you get out of here, you are coming straight to me.” Patrick’s eyes widened.

“But, I mean, uh…”

“Just think about it, okay?”

“Time to go, Stump,” the guard called, approaching Patrick.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you around,” Patrick said, standing up.

“Soon,” Pete promised. Patrick walked with the guard out of the visitor’s room, and back into his own cell.

“That was weird,” Patrick whispered to himself.

“What happened?” Brendon asked, appearing next to Patrick. Patrick yelped, jumping away from Brendon.

“You’ve got to stop just appearing out of nowhere!” Patrick exclaimed.

“What, I’m a ghost! What else am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. Knock?”

“If you haven’t noticed, my body can just phase through any objects, including doors.”

“Well… then… I don’t know!”

“Exactly. Anyway, seriously, what happened?”

“Well, Mikey’s old boyfriend visited me again… but he was nice. He said that he owned a record label, and when I get out, he basically offered to sign me. It’s weird.”

“You are pretty good though. Maybe he just realises that.”

“He’s still so pissed off after Mikey’s death…”

“I think he’s finally learning to move on.”

Brendon and Patrick turned around at this new voice, and saw Mikey standing in the room with them.

“Remember what I said to him last time?” Mikey asked, “I told them if he wanted to heal, he had to start forgiving you, and himself. Otherwise I’d haunt him forever.”

“Do you really think he’s taken that to heart, though?” Patrick asked.

“Maybe not truly just yet, but trust me, he’s trying. This is his way of trying.”

“Well, I can’t ask for anything more than that.”

“Aw, Stumpy’s making a new friend! He’s all grown up now!” Brendon squealed.

“Shut up!” Patrick replied playfully, going up on his tip toes to try and ruffle Brendon’s hair. Of course, his hand fell right through, and he got a shiver up his arm. Brendon and Patrick shared a sad look.

“Being dead isn’t really that good,” Mikey murmured.

“When we pass on, it’s supposed to be better,” Brendon replied.

“I guess. But, we have to finish up here first.”

“Yep, as long as it’s possible. Good thing Stumpy here can help us!”

“And I’m glad to help.” Patrick smiled warmly.

“Aw. Group hug!” Brendon shouted gleefully, and did his best as he could to wrap his arms around Patrick. Mikey chuckled, then joined in as well, being able to solidly put his arm around Brendon.

“I’ll help you guys no matter what,” Patrick said.

“Glad to hear it,” Mikey replied.

* * *

 

Later that night, Pete was lying in his bed, though he was staring up at the ceiling since he was unable to fall asleep.

“If you want to heal, then you have to start forgiving Patrick, and yourself,” Pete murmured to himself. “I’m trying Mikey, I really am.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been like, a week since the last update! I'm coming up to exams so updates will be slower. I will do my best, though! Anyway, enjoy!

“So, you wanted to see me?”

Pete looked up from his cup of coffee to gaze upwards at Gerard, who was standing over him. They were both in a café, and Gerard had just arrived.

“Yeah. I just… kinda wanted to talk.” Gerard chuckled, and sat down.

“Well, have you been doing?” Gerard asked, as he flagged down a waiter.

“A bit better, in fact. But… it’s really weird. You remember Patrick, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve visited him a couple of times in order to talk to Mikey. What about him?”

“Well... I’ve felt like I’ve been forgiving him recently. But I feel like I shouldn’t.”

“You’ve got to accept that it’s not totally his fault, and he is being punished right now.”

“I know, but it’s so hard… even though Mikey seems to have forgiven Patrick to some degree.”

“We all miss him, Pete.” Pete sighed.

“And Patrick actually seems like a great guy. Under any other circumstance, I’m pretty sure that we would have been great friends. And he can _sing_ Gerard, I’m not kidding. He’s really good. I even offered to sign him when he gets out, which was kinda on impulse, but… I think something like him would be good for the company. He could make it big.”

“It sounds like it’s going great so far. It can only get better from here.”

“Yeah, I hope so.” At this point, the waiter finally arrived, and Gerard ordered a coffee.

“So, how is the civil suit against the hospital going?” Pete asked. Gerard’s eyes widened slightly, not expecting the conversation to go that way.

“The hospital is giving a good fight, but I think my lawyers are going to win. To be honest, I would rather the doctors and nurses involved be sent to jail for their negligence, but I doubt that’s going to happen, so we’re just going to take the money. It’s never going to be enough for Mikey’s life, but at least it will teach them a lesson. I don’t want this to happen to anyone else.”

“Yep, that much I agree with.”

“Seriously Pete, Mikey wouldn’t – doesn’t – want you to be super sad. You know that. You beginning to move on and forgive Patrick is a great step, and I know Mikey is proud of you. He’ll be able to move on too, soon. Hopefully.”

“Yeah, he deserves better then to continue stalking me and not even be able to talk to me directly. I’m sure there’s a better world out there.”

“Do you think Mikey is here right now?”

“Who knows. I’ve never had an aptitude for any sort of psychic-ness.” A few feet away, there was a laugh, though no one could hear it.

“Good guess,” Mikey said, a warm look in his eyes. It was nice to see Pete and Gerard converse like this, and it was especially nice to see that some life had returned to Pete. Yes, Mikey had been stalking Pete, in a way. He’s noticed that since his last visit with Patrick almost two weeks ago, Pete had slowed down on his drinking nights. He still sometimes looked lost, as if looking for Mikey, but Mikey knew that the pain was becoming more bearable, and hopefully, resolved. Mikey thought that Pete and Patrick were going to have a good friendship – maybe even more, some day. Mikey didn’t particularly mind if Pete got another boyfriend – or girlfriend – as long as his heart wasn’t going to break again. Mikey really hoped Pete found happiness – even if it no longer could be with him.

Mikey sighed, watching as Pete and Gerard fought over the bill. Eventually Gerard won – by shoving his ten dollar bill at the poor waiter and quickly grabbing the change before Pete could object further. Gerard smirked at Pete, who just sighed and laughed. They both parted ways, and Mikey followed Pete home.

Pete decided to go up to his study and try and work on something. Though, he looked at all his scattered papers, and decided that he didn’t have the energy. He sank down into his office chair and opened the bottom drawer of his desk. He saw a bottle of unopened whiskey and a notebook – he decided to not touch the whiskey, and instead took the notebook. He flipped it to a half-filled page, and saw that the last lines he had written were faintly about court. He took a pen and wrote more lyrics for it;

 _Case open, case shut,_  
But you could pay to close it like a casket  
Baby boy can't lift his headache head  
Isn't it tragic?

 _Fresh pressed suit and tie_  
Unimpressed birds sing and die  
Can talk my way out of anything  
The foreman reads the verdict  
"In the above entitled actions we find the defendant..."  
Guilty...

Pete sighed, then closed his notebook again. Patrick was certainly found guilty… and Pete was glad about that. It was a stupid idea to drive in the middle of the night drunk – he’d been there and done that himself. Luckily, he hadn’t hit anybody, just a deer. He remembered having a fleeting thought of _What if that was a human?_ then promptly thought _This was a stupid idea_ and called a taxi. Of course, it was stupid to leave his car in the middle of nowhere, but he and his friends managed to locate it the next day. Pete decided it was no more drunk driving for him.

Unfortunately for Patrick, he had to learn that lesson a harder way. And sure, Mikey could have survived, but thanks to that damn hospital he had died. Pete found it easier and easier to accept that the hospital shared blame, but he still felt angry at Patrick. It confused Pete. He still felt somewhat the he should feel angry at Patrick because that’s what Mikey would want him to do, but then Mikey told him otherwise. Sometimes, it just gave Pete a headache. And then he would drink.

 _But I am getting better,_ Pete thought. Though sometimes he felt that he shouldn’t feel better. Sometimes he felt like that he was betraying Mikey every time he felt a bit better about his grief. He felt that if he was getting better, it meant that Mikey wasn’t important enough to him. He felt that he should be suffering for years because of how close he was to Mikey. He loved him, for god’s sake.

 _Though you never said that, did you,_ a mean part of Pete thought. Sometimes Pete wondered if he would have said ‘I love you.’ Pete wasn’t sure if it was from fear, or something else.

But Pete would never forget Mikey. That, he was sure of. Pete just wasn’t sure if he would be able to get into another serious relationship for a long time.

Pete sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. He remembered the phrase ‘Time heals,’ and he certainly hoped that it was true. If he was being selfish and didn’t care about what Mikey thought, he would say that the hole in his chest was too much. It was gaping, painful and it was barely healing at the moment. Pete would bear that for Mikey, and would let himself heal when he thought it was time. Now was not the time, even though it was a slight relief.

Pete was certainly conflicted, and he decided that he needed some air. He left his study, then went out of the front door. He decided to just let his legs take him where they wanted to. Pete didn’t really care, he was just enjoying the fresh air. He felt a pang in his heart when he realised that he used to have walks with Mikey, and he now missed Mikey. Again.

Pete held back his tears.

Eventually, Pete found himself crossing a large park, and he realised where his auto-pilot had directed him to – their special spot.

He walked along the dirt path that entered the forest and after a few more minutes of walking, diverged in the trees. He stopped in front of a huge oak tree, examining it. He traced his fingers across the bark, and stopped at a certain marking. A huge heart had been carved into it, and in it there were the names Pete and Mikey. Pete sighed, and sat down at the base of the tree. It was incredibly peaceful, the only sounds being a breeze whistling through the trees, and the incredibly distant sounds of screaming children. Pete paid no mind to them.

Pete remembered that this was the place that he had taken Mikey to on their first date. He remembered taking his Swiss army knife out of his pocket, and together he and Mikey had carved into the tree, his hand over Mikey’s. They had often come for picnics, and for some fooling around. A lot of fooling around.

Pete smiled at these memories. This was their place, and their place only.

Nobody would take that away from him.

No one would take those memories.

They were his.


	10. Chapter 10

Patrick sat on one of the benches outside, alone, watching some of the movement going on outside. He watched as a trail of prisoners in handcuffs were marched out of the bus, and then continuing on to the entrance. Patrick snorted – they were probably new convicts, and they were going to have lots of fun.

“Patrick! Patrick!” a voice shouted. Patrick glanced in the direction of the voice, and saw Brendon barrelling towards him. He looked away again – he didn’t want to be caught by a guard talking to thin air. Brendon knew this too.

“Brendon, why are you in such a rush?” Patrick asked.

“It’s Ryan,” Brendon panted, “He’s here!”

“What do you mean?” Patrick asked, now truly confused.

“He just came in with those new convicts.”

“But Ryan was convicted over a year ago!”

“He was transferred to this prison, from a maximum security one. I found out why – apparently they decided to reward him by transferring him to a less secure prison, because he was well-behaved.” Patrick snorted.

“Good behaviour? Ryan? I don’t think I can believe it.”

“Well, he is here, and that is what I found out. We better stay away from him, Stumpy.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t want to be anywhere near him. Last time we met he wanted to kill me.”

“I don’t think he has changed a bit. He might just try to kill you.”

“It would be stupid for him to try something in broad daylight. Just don’t get yourself cornered.”

“I don’t plan it.’

A few days later, Ryan decided to make an appearance in the courtyard. He scanned it, until his eyes landed on a peculiar sight. His eyes widened, but then a maniacal grin settled on his face. He couldn’t believe his luck.

Catching himself, Ryan smoothed out the expression on his face to something more socially acceptable, then made his way to the furthest table, which was situated next to the fence.

“Hello Patrick,” Ryan greeted cheerfully, capturing Patrick’s attention. The shorter man span around in alarm, his eyes widening when he saw Ryan.

“Ryan,” Patrick replied, apprehension clear in his voice. Ryan thought about what he was going to do – would he threaten Patrick outright, or would he try to become his friend? Gain his trust?

And then crush it?

Ryan almost couldn’t keep a second grin to himself.

“I’m sorry about Brendon, Patrick,” Ryan said, in the most sincere voice he could muster. Patrick’s eyebrows rose. He was clearly not expecting Ryan to say that. Then he promptly put a scowl on his face.

“Sure you are,” Patrick bit back.

“I really am. Prison really gets to you, y’know? I’ve thought about what I did. It was pretty insane of me, and if I could go back in time, I would prevent myself from killing him.” In truth, he would help his slightly younger self, and then go after Patrick immediately. “I know it probably doesn’t mean a lot to you, but… I’m sorry.”

“Apology not really accepted, but let’s pretend that it is. Anything else?”

“You seem pretty lonely here. I could keep you company.”

“Do what you want.” Ryan smiled, and then sat beside Patrick.

“How did you manage to get here, anyway?” Patrick asked, pretending that Brendon hadn’t already told him.

“Good behaviour.”

“Wouldn’t expect that of you.”

“I know. I spent some time in solitary confinement, decided that maybe killing Brendon wasn’t the best idea. Kinda stupid. I turned over a new leaf, got on the staff’s good side, and here I am.”

“It was more than ‘kinda stupid,’” Patrick whispered under his breath.

“What are you doing here, anyway? I doubt you’re working here, you look like shit.”

“Why thanks,” Patrick replied sarcastically. “I was drunk driving and I drove into someone, seriously injuring them. They died later, in hospital.”

“Wow, that sucks. Couldn’t have been good for your conscience.”

“Well, not really. But my lawyer managed to prove that the hospital, through negligence, managed to finish them off. Otherwise they’d still be alive. Doesn’t help me that much, though, since I’m the reason he was in that damn hospital in the first place.”

“He, huh?” Ryan noted, finally getting the gender of the guy Patrick hit.

“Yeah,” Patrick admitted. The whistled sounded throughout the courtyard, and there were several groans and complaints as everyone had to be chased back into their cells.

“Seems like it’s time to go. Nice talking to you,” Ryan said, reaching out and squeezed Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick flinched, and he stiffened. Ryan gave him a warm smile and walked off. Patrick remained frozen – he still didn’t trust Ryan, and Ryan knew that, but he _touched him_ anyway!

“Hurry up, Stumph!” one of the guards called. Patrick, still feeling uneasy, stood up and briskly walked back inside.

Patrick, once inside of his cell, flopped onto his bed, defeated.

“I don’t know what his game is, Brendon!” he shouted.

“Me neither,” Brendon replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But I don’t trust him.”

“I will never trust him,” Patrick growled. “He’s planning something.”

“Just watch yourself, Stumpy.”

“Already am.”

After a week of more ‘fraternising with the enemy,’ as Patrick had dubbed it, the guard came to his cell, and called for Patrick to go to the visitor’s room.

“This must be, like, the thousandth time I’ve been visited,” Patrick said, rolling his eyes.

“You sure are a popular guy. How on earth did someone like you end up in her?” the guard asked

“I was just stupid, and my stupidity got someone killed.” The guard said nothing else, sensing the agitation behind Patrick’s voice.

Patrick sat down in the chair, and his eyes widened when he saw who was visiting him. His mom.

“Mom!” Patrick shouted, surprised. Patricia smiled warmly at her son, and sat down in her chair, and picked up the telephone.

“It’s nice to see you, Patrick,” Patricia greeted.

“I thought that you would never visit me,” Patrick admitted.

“I only found out that you were sent to prison recently. I was angry, but then I found out everything that happened… I’m so sorry, Patrick.”

“Don’t be. It was my fault, I was stupid to drive that night.”

“Well, you’re not going to do it again, are you?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course not!” Patricia smiled.

“We all make mistakes, Patrick. The important thing is that you learn from them.” Patrick then smiled, but he didn’t feel that it was genuine.

“I feel so bad, though. Especially because of Mikey’s boyfriend, Pete. I can totally understand how he feels.”

“I can see that. How are you, by the way, Brendon?” Patricia was focusing on a figure behind Patrick. Patrick rolled his eyes and span around, to see Brendon standing behind him.

“I can never hide from you, can I Mrs. Stumph?” Brendon asked, grinning. Patricia laughed, while Patrick just shook his head. “I’m doing as fine as ghosts can do. How’s living?”

“Not bad at all,” Patricia replied. “Are you any closer to moving on?”

“Have to say, this was a setback,” Brendon replied, looking mockingly irritated at Patrick. Patrick put his hands up in fake surrender. “But, to be honest, I think this might be the reason I am going to move on.”

“What do you mean?” Patrick said, suddenly alarmed.

“Well, seeing you and Pete together… I think you’ll be good for each other,” Brendon said slowly and deliberately.

“Are you kidding me? He hates my guts,” Patrick grumbled.

“Trust me, I think something good is going to come out of it. Trust me, I know.”

“How do you know?” By now, Patrick had a raised eyebrow.

“Just ghost things,” Brendon replied cheerfully.

“It sounds good to hear,” Patricia said. Patrick looked at his mom.

“Well, I just hope I’ll be able to get my life back on track when I get out,” he said.

“We’ll help you, you know,” Patricia replied.

“Yeah…” Patrick sighed. “How’s Dad?”

“He’s out on business at the moment, but he knows what has happened. He’ll probably visit when you get back.”

“Cool. It would be nice to see him.”

“I’m sure it would be.” The guard then approached Patrick.

“It’s time to go. Say goodbye,” he said, but not menacingly.

“I guess you’ll see you around, mom.”

“See you, sweetie.” Patricia watched as her son was led out, then looked at Brendon. She mentioned for him to come with her. Brendon shrugged, floated through the division, and then followed her out of the visitor’s room. He continued following her out of the prison. She walked into the car park, and then unlocked her car. She sat in the driver’s seat, and Brendon slid into the front seat.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” Brendon asked.

“Is Patrick really okay?” Patricia asked softly. Brendon sighed.

“I’m not entirely sure how to respond to that,” Brendon admitted. “He feels really terrible about what he did, and he even wished that he was convicted for manslaughter instead of just assault. I can see it in his eyes every time he gets a visitor, he’s hoping it’s not Pete, or Mikey’s brother, or anyone else to do with Mikey. He can’t look them in the eyes. I’m worried about him, because there’s something about Pete and Patrick that I’ve… sensed. If they opened up to each other, if Pete forgave Patrick, they could love each other. I just know it. I’m not sure if Patrick would be happy if he doesn’t. Both Mikey and I are trying to get him to forgive himself.”

“I know Patrick can be really hard on himself sometimes,” Patricia said. “But he’ll realise that he can’t be like that. You’ve just got to help him.”

“Don’t worry Mrs, Stumph, I’m doing my best.”

“I know you are. And thank you, Brendon. I know you can’t rest until Patrick is happy.” Brendon chuckled.

“Yeah.”

“Anyway, I’ll let you go now. Thanks again.”

“No problem. I’ll see you soon, I guess.”

“Goodbye, Brendon.” Brendon floated out of the car, and watched as Patricia drove away.

“Where were you?” Patrick asked Brendon when he got back.

“Your mom wanted to talk to me,” Brendon replied simply.

“About?”

“Stuff.”

“That is so specific.”

“I know!” Brendon stuck his tongue out. Patrick laughed and shook his head.

“Don’t tell me, then.”

“I wasn’t planning to!” Patrick sighed, then flopped down onto his bed. “Are you okay, Stumpy?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Patrick mumbled. Brendon sat down near him.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m just tired.” Patrick rolled onto his side.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” Brendon put a soothing hand on Patrick, though Patrick shivered.

“It’s just…” Patrick sighed. “I feel really bad. Dad’s probably mad at me for what I did. Pete is still really mad, even though he’s trying to forgive me. Mikey is probably secretly angry at me – I did essentially kill him. I just wish that night didn’t happen.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Brendon said softly.

“But it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“You might believe that, but I don’t think it is. Shit happens, God gives us these challenges, and it’s up to us to overcome them. You’re strong, Patrick. You can do it.” Patrick sighed.

“I hope so.” Patrick closed his eyes. “I just want to sleep.”

“Then do so. I’ll be here.”

“Thanks,” Patrick said sleepily. Brendon kept sitting there, watching Patrick slip into a deep sleep. He smiled sadly.

 _Oh Patrick,_ he thought, _When will you forgive yourself?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter to make up for some of the crap I've been writing... so Ryan returns! What do you think his intentions are? Will Patrick ever get over himself? Will I stop asking pointless questions? Okay, seriously I'll stop now. 
> 
> Anyway, I've figured out how the rest of the story is going to go, and I was shocked myself when I saw that there were going to be 30 chapters in total ._. but at least I'm a third way through this already! I hope this story is going to remain interesting enough for you guys. Oh, and if you have any suggestions, feel free to leave a comment!
> 
> Thanks for supporting me so far, I honestly didn't think this story would be as popular as it is. Glad you all are enjoying it!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this took so long! I'm in the middle of exams right now so I haven't had much time for anything (and even if I had the time I would be too tired) so this was fairly delayed. My last exam is on Thursday so updates should pick up then. For now, I hope you enjoy this latest chapter!

Patrick walked outside into the prison’s courtyard, the warm sun gracing his slightly pale skin. He looked around and saw Ryan sitting at the table that Patrick normally sat at. Patrick grimaced slightly – he still didn’t completely trust Ryan. The last time they met Ryan was swearing up a storm and threatening to kill Patrick violently. Patrick didn’t doubt that – Ryan had left Brendon’s body in such a gory state when he murdered him. He was psychotic and Patrick was terrified, so it was understandable that Patrick was still wary.

Patrick plastered a smile on his face and walked over to the bench, determined not to be intimidated by the killer.

“Patrick, it’s good to see you again,” Ryan greeted, as soon as Patrick arrived at the table.

“Nice to see you too,” Patrick replied, somewhat cautiously. Ryan seemed to have sensed that, because he laughed.

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on biting,” Ryan teased. Patrick laughed along.

“I wouldn’t let you.” Nearby, Patrick sensed Brendon watching the exchange carefully. “Are you really sorry?” Patrick blurted out, capturing Ryan’s full attention. “For Brendon, I mean.”

“Of course I am,” Ryan replied, with barely a moment of hesitation, “I was so caught up in my jealously that I never could fully understand how killing someone would affect everyone. I mean, _really_ affect everyone. I saw your pain in the courtroom, and I couldn’t really grasp that until after I came out of solitary confinement. I realised that you must have felt like shit, and still do. I can’t think of any way to truly make up for that, I know that. But I will tell you, how many times you need to hear it, how truly and sincerely sorry I am that I… killed Brendon. I miss him too.” Patrick was slightly taken aback by Ryan’s words, and how genuine they sounded. He finally let his guard down a few extra notches, feeling that maybe Ryan could be trusted.

“It still might take me a while to forgive you, but I appreciate what you’re saying.”

“I understand.” Ryan gave Patrick a smile, which contained only a hint of madness. “I don’t care how long it takes for you to forgive me, if you ever do. As long as you know that I am sorry.”

Patrick saw that hint of madness, and gulped inaudibly. He was going to be wrong about trusting Ryan minutely, he knew it.

From a few metres away, Patrick knew that Brendon felt the same.

Patrick was walking to the showers, a towel in his hand. He knew that he was late (again) and that all the stalls would be taken – and that he would probably have a cold shower – but he was willing to wait. He wasn’t too keen on missing out on a shower.

He arrived at the communal bathroom, and sat down on one of the benches to wait for an open shower stall. The bathroom was fairly dismal with 20 shower stalls lined up on one wall, several toilets on another wall and then there were sinks with mirrors opposite the toilets. The white porcelain of the sinks was stained and cracked, and one of the sinks was held together by duct tape and still looked like it was on the verge of falling apart. Most of the mirrors had similar cracks, but most of them looked intact. There were a few light bulbs hanging from the ceiling which didn’t provide a lot of light, which gave the whole bathroom an eerie feel. Patrick hated it, but he hated the feeling of uncleanliness even more, so he bared the terrible trek to the bathrooms every day in order to feel the water running over his skin, washing away the dirt and grime from the day, and, in a way, if Patrick concentrated hard enough, he felt his sins wash away little by little.

When Patrick looked around defunct bathroom, he caught Ryan sitting on the other side of the bench. Ryan caught his eye, then laughed.

“You’re late too, huh?” Ryan said as he laughed.

“You have to get in early if you want hot water,” Patrick replied, “Except I’m always late.”

“Normally I’m here early enough, but I don’t know what happened today,” Ryan explained half-heartedly with a shrug. The squeaking of one of the shower stall doors grabbed the attention of both Ryan and Patrick, and Ryan got up to take the available stall. “First come, first served!” Ryan teased, as he shut the door. Patrick tsked then shook his head.

“Too friendly…” he mumbled, as another stall at the other end of the bathroom opened. Patrick took his bundled fresh prison uniform, towel and soap and trudged into the shower stall.

He shivered slightly as the lukewarm water hit his bare skin. He knew that it wouldn’t be long until the water turned ice cold, but Patrick couldn’t help but slip into his own mind. He started thinking of the whole ordeal with Ryan, and wondered what Ryan’s real motives were. Did Ryan honestly expect to waltz up to Patrick and grovel, then instantly get Patrick’s trust and forgiveness? However, to be fair, Ryan probably knew that too – but Patrick thought that Ryan wanted to get at least a little bit of trust before attacking him. That’s what Ryan ultimately wanted, right? To kill Patrick as well? Not that Ryan knew, but Patrick wasn’t afraid of dying like a lot of people were – if he was to be killed, he would at least be able to join Brendon in the afterlife.

Don’t get him wrong, it’s not like Patrick was suicidal – all that Patrick knew that if he had to die within the next couple of years, it wouldn’t be all bad, since he would have Brendon.

An almighty smash from outside Patrick’s stall snapped him out of his reverie. It sounded as if someone had punched a mirror and completely smashed it. Patrick listened as someone grunted, and moved some of the pieces around the floor (or pick them up from the floor – Patrick couldn’t really tell,) and then walk off. Patrick was confused – who would be so stupid as to smash a mirror?

Only now he noticed that the water had indeed turned freezing cold. How long had he been lost in his thoughts? Patrick didn’t really care, all he knew was that he had to get out of the shower before he turned into a Popsicle.

He quickly turned off the shower and dried off his body. He realised dimly halfway through that he forgot to use soap. It didn’t really matter – Patrick, at the very least, felt refreshed. He’d have a shower tomorrow morning.

He got dressed and walked out of the shower stall, and saw that the bathroom was completely abandoned. Everyone else had obviously gone back to their cells. It feel even spookier, with the only sound filling the bathroom being Patrick’s soft footsteps. Patrick gulped, turning his thoughts to something else. He knew that if he didn’t hurry up, he was going to get into trouble for missing curfew.

Before he sprinted out of the bathroom, he saw that glass shards filled the sink that was under the broken frame and was scattered on the floor. Patrick shook his head, and decided that it was probably the work of some lunatic.

He sprinted out of the bathroom, bent on reaching his cell before the final curfew whistle sounded. However, as he turned around a corner, he tripped over and fell over onto the dirty, hard floor. Patrick groaned and cursed his clumsiness, but then he looked up to see Ryan looming over him, a glass shard in his hand. He had the same, maniacal grin on his face as the day Patrick caught him over Brendon’s dead body.

“It’s nice to see you again, Patrick,” Ryan greeted, immediately reminding Patrick of their conversation earlier in the courtyard. “How are you doing?”

“Bastard,” Patrick growled.

“I remember you calling me that over a year ago.”

“And it’s still true now like it was back then.”

“That’s rude. You should pay for that.” Patrick tried to scramble to his feet, but Ryan kicked him back down. He sat on his stomach, pinning Patrick to the floor.

“Get off me!”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.” Ryan’s grin grew even more, if that was possible. “How to kill you? Do I have time to draw your pain out? Maybe I should drag you off? Or maybe…”

Patrick shoved Ryan off of him then scrambled to his feet, Ryan was taken aback slightly, so Patrick took the opportunity to run away. However, he was pushed to the ground again, and he felt a weight straddling his back, pinning his arms above his head.

“You don’t want to see me? That’s mean. You _really_ hurt my feelings, y’know,” Ryan said in a mocking tone of voice. “Perhaps I should fix that.”

Patrick screamed as Ryan scraped the glass shard down his leg, ripping the material and the delicate skin underneath.

“Now you’re hurt, just like me!” Ryan cackled.

“You’re… you’re psycho…”

“Oh, I know.”

“Get off him!” Patrick’s head whipped around to see Brendon barrelling towards Ryan. Patrick’s eyes widened as there was a huge burst of light, and Ryan was thrown off his back.

“God! You’re always a problem, even when you’re dead, aren’t you?” Ryan snarled, looking angrily at Brendon, who was panting heavily.

“What? You can see me?!” Brendon exclaimed, looking surprised. Patrick rolled onto his butt, looking at Brendon and Ryan.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

“You are not going to hurt my Stumpy,” Brendon growled, getting into an attack stance.

“What are you going to do? You’re dead!”

“A lot more than you think.”


	12. Chapter 12

“What are you going to do? You’re dead!” Ryan laughed, looking at Brendon as if he was a joke.

“A lot more than you think,” Brendon replied, a smirk on his face.

“Brendon! What are you doing?” Patrick asked, alarmed.

“Don’t worry, Stumpy,” Brendon reassured, “I got this.”

“I don’t get it,” Patrick said, shaking his head. “Since when was Ryan able to see spirits?”

“Funny story, that,” Ryan replied, chuckling. “That happened after I came out of solitary confinement.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. When I came out, my resolve to kill you was absolutely absolute, but obviously I had to get out of prison first. That’s when I first started seeing them. I thought they were new inmates at first, but with the ghostly feel, look, and the strange looks I got every time I talked to them, I eventually put two and two together. Then I started learning about the ghost realm.”

“Oh?” Brendon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“A lot, actually,” Ryan replied, “For example, what you just did there was a burst of spirit energy. Ghosts have spirit energy naturally, and in times of distress, they can use it and with it they can interact with the living world. Since you were panicking, because I was hurting your dear boyfriend, you managed to activate your energy and hurt me.”

“Well done, so you know what I did. So what?” Brendon mocked.

“I’ve never heard of this,” Patrick murmured to himself.

“It never came up. I thought that I would never have to protect you like this,” Brendon replied, hearing Patrick’s murmur.

“Another thing about spirit energy,” Ryan continued, his smirk growing. “The spirit energy makes up the very core of a soul’s being. Therefore, the spirit in question can’t use too much of it. If they do, they shatter their very being, and fade away into nothing.”

“Patrick, get out of here,” Brendon said, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Brendon!” Patrick exclaimed, “Don’t do this. Please, I don’t want you to die. Again.”

“Don’t listen to him, Brendon! Come at me! I’m waiting for you!” Ryan’s eyes held a psychotic look again, as he brandished his glass shard. Brendon’s ghostly aura seemed to glow, as he prepared himself for another attack.

“Go now, Patrick,” Brendon warned. Patrick’s eyes were wide with disbelief, but he stood up. He put pressure on his injured leg, but he nearly tumbled to the floor again.

“Go!” Brendon’s voice was more urgent. Ryan grinned and grabbed Patrick by the collar of his shirt.

“What are you willing to do for your precious Patrick?” Ryan asked in a mocking tone of voice. Brendon growled and ran at Ryan. Ryan simply stood, still holding Patrick, and still grinning. Brendon’s aura glowed again, and hit Ryan with a punch square in the face, making him let go of Patrick. Patrick nearly fell down, but managed to stabilise himself on his healthy leg. Ryan flew back into the wall, but the attack clearly took a toll on Brendon. Brendon’s face scrunched up in pain, and his aura flickered.

“Brendon, no!” Patrick exclaimed.

“Run, Patrick! Please!” Brendon begged.

“Brendon…” Brendon walked up to Patrick, and shoved him over a little.

“Go, save yourself. I’ll take care of Ryan.”

“Please don’t die.”

“I’ll hold him off as long as I can. Go and get help!” Patrick nodded, though reluctantly, then started limping away.

“I have to give it to you, Brenny-Boo,” Ryan said, smirking as he stood back up and using his old pet-name for Brendon mockingly, “You can pack a bit of a punch when you want to. Too bad you weren’t like that when I killed you.” Brendon flinched when Ryan mentioned his murder. “At least you’re making it exciting for me now, when I kill you a second time! Or maybe… won’t you just kill yourself?”

“You’re going down first.”

“Bring it on, Brenny-Boo.” Brendon launched himself at Ryan, and threw a punch at Ryan. Ryan sidestepped, but Brendon saw it and drove his left fist into Ryan’s stomach. Ryan stumbled back, winded. Brendon stepped forward and punched him in the stomach again, making Ryan double over. Brendon shoved him to the ground and kicked him in the sides over and over again, until Brendon had to stop. He stepped back, and dropped to his knees in pain.

“Is that all you got?” Ryan choked out, still rolling around on the floor.

“You seriously can’t want more,” Brendon replied.

“Nah. I know you’re about to die anyway.”

“No I’m not…”

“You’re a terrible liar. You always have been.”

“If I kill you then dying is fine.”

“You have a death wish. I’m willing to grant it.” Ryan dragged himself to his feet, and stood in front of Brendon. “I can’t attack a ghost. But you can attack me, so do it!”

Brendon frowned. He knew that if he attacked powerfully again, he could rip apart his own soul and die. But wasn’t there another way?

“What’s wrong, Brenny-Boo? You getting cold feet?” Ryan grinned. “Maybe you don’t care as much when it becomes life and death. I’ll be going now.”

“No,” Brendon growled, as Ryan kept grinning and moved away. Brendon stood up as Ryan broke out into a sprint. Brendon chased down Ryan and caught up to him, his soul sliding into Ryan’s body.

“Gah! What are you doing?” Ryan asked, alarmed. He hadn’t expected anything like that.

“Possessing you,” Brendon’s voice called back, fighting Ryan’s soul for control.

“No! You can’t!”

“I can.” Ryan’s body fell to the ground, struggling as the two souls fought for dominance.

While they were fighting, a couple of guards rounded a corner and saw Ryan’s body wriggling around on the ground. They went on either side, grabbed Ryan’s arms, and hauled him up.

“We know you assaulted Prisoner Stumph,” one of them said menacingly.

“You’re going into time-out for a long time, buddy,” the other added. When Ryan looked up, it was Brendon’s eyes that shined through.

“Yeah, I get it,” he said gruffly.

* * *

 

Patrick was lying down on a hospital bed, a bandage wrapped tightly around his wound. If one looked hard enough, however, one would see some blood rising up and threatening to completely soak the bandage. He was barely awake, drifting in and out of consciousness.

The doctor came in at one point and checked on Patrick’s blood pressure, and he felt the wound on his leg being exposed to open air as the nurse changed his bandages, and then he was alone again. During his moments of consciousness, he hoped that Brendon hadn’t died, that Ryan hadn’t forced him over the edge.

“Hey sexy,” Patrick heard. He lifted his head off of his pillow fractionally, to see who was talking to him. He saw Brendon standing there, a hand on his hip and cocky smile on his face.

“Brendon…” Patrick said weakly, smiling slightly.

“I took care of Ryan,” Brendon said.

“I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“I’m glad too. And Ryan’s going to be in a lot of trouble now.”

“I guess he was caught.”

“Yeah. A couple of guards came and took him in.”

“I found them and told them what was going on.”

“Must have been them, then.” Brendon walked over to Patrick’s bed, and sat down on it. “How’s your leg?”

“I think I’m drunk on painkillers, so I can’t really feel anything,” Patrick admitted, chuckling a bit.

“At least it’s bandaged up now.”

“This is like, the third time it’s been bandaged. When it was bandaged the other two times I bled through them.”

“That sucks.”

“So what do you think will happen to Ryan?”

“The guards don’t really care for other prison inmates, so they’ll probably only let him off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Screw him.” Patrick frowned.

“Don’t worry,” Brendon reassured, “If he attacks you again, I’ll kill him.”

“If you do that, you might die yourself.”

“I’ll drag him to hell with me.”

“They’ll be no hell for you. You’ll be finished!”

“You know Stumpy, you worry too much sometimes.” Brendon laughed, then brushed a hand over his face. Patrick felt spikes of cold push against his skin. “I won’t die again. I promise.”

“You better not,” Patrick mumbled in reply, then rolled over onto his side as sleep struggled to claim him yet again. Brendon smiled, almost sadly, then he moved his hand as if to pull the blankets up, then realised that he wasn’t able to. Brendon’s smile increased in sadness, being reminded yet again that he had died once.

 _I won’t kill myself purposely,_ Brendon thought, _But to protect you and to make sure you don’t die and be stuck in this limbo so soon, I will lay down my life if I have to._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to do, but I'm finally on school holidays! Yay! I'll be travelling soon, but I'll hopefully be able to work quite quickly over the next week. I feel that the ending bit a little bit lame, but it gave me an idea, mwahaha >:D I won't spoil, so I'll just end this author's note here. Please review and give me some constructive criticism, I really want to know what you guys are thinking. 'til next time!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so, SO sorry for not updating for so long. I don't really have an excuse for not updating for as long as I haven't, I was pretty lazy. Anyway, I hope this chapter isn't complete crap and that you enjoy.

Pete noticed it immediately when Patrick walked into his part of the visitor’s with a limp. He was worried about what could have happened since his last visit, then his eyes widened as he remembered the last time he saw someone with a limp – it had been Mikey, after a _very busy_ night. Pete remembered that morning after, he had laughed as soon as he had seen Mikey struggling to walk to the bathroom.

With this memory, he automatically made the worst conclusion, a worried expression appearing on his face.

“Hey,” Patrick greeted, as soon as they both had the telephones to their ears. Patrick caught the look in Pete’s eyes, and smiled, somewhat sadly. “I guess the limp was that obvious, wasn’t it?”

“What happened?” Pete blurted out, regretting saying those words as soon as they were out of his mouth. “I mean, if you’re okay with talking about it…”

“It’s nothing,” Patrick replied with a shrug, which worried Pete even more. Patrick propped his leg on the small desk the phone cradle was resting on, the pant of his trousers falling a bit, revealing a bandage wrapped tightly around his calf. Pete let out a sigh of relief. That was probably the only cause of his limping.

“Did you manage to trip over and cut your leg or something?” Pete asked teasingly, a playful smirk on his face.

“I was attacked,” Patrick corrected, trying not to be annoyed at Pete for thinking he would be so clumsy. Pete’s expression fell, and immediately felt guilty for assuming wrongly.

“Oh man, that’s pretty shit. Did they catch the guy?”

“Yes, but I doubt they’re going to punish him severely.”

“Do you think that he’s going to attack you again?”

“Without a doubt.” Pete’s eyes widened in surprise and concern.

“Has this guy got a grudge against you or something?”

“Yeah.” Patrick sighed, his expression falling. Pete thought that Patrick would simply stop with that simple word, but was surprised when he decided to continue; “My boyfriend’s killer. He was transferred here recently, and still holds a grudge against me and wants to kill me.”

“Is he like a psychopath or something?”

“Probably.” Patrick sighed again, pushing his glasses up. “Anyway, I’m getting sick of talking about him.”

“I can imagine,” Pete replied, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Patrick replied, “It can’t be helped, I guess.”

“How’s Mikey?” Pete asked.

“Getting bored and restless. We’re still not exactly buddy-buddy, though.”

“Didn’t think you guys would be. He says all this stuff about being fine and forgiveness, but it’s not like he practises what he preaches.”

“So I’ve seen. I don’t blame him though, I wouldn’t exactly be too friendly with the guy who killed me.”

“Yeah…” Pete’s tone became slightly unhappier, and thought he tried to hide it, Patrick could see that he was still struggling to forgive him.

“Look, I don’t expect you to be so friendly with me.”

“It’s fine, it’s just still kinda difficult, y’know… getting over his death and all that.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Can I talk to you?”

“Normally I would let you, but right now I feel like crap.”

“Understandable…”

“I promise you can next time.”

“…Okay.”

And all of a sudden, Patrick found himself wanting to touch Pete, to comfort him in his grief.

A couple of days later, Patrick’s wound had healed enough for him to be walking around more, so he went outside for the first time in three days. Upon examining the courtyard, he saw Ryan stalking around the courtyard, chatting to a couple of fellow inmates. Their eyes met for a moment, and Ryan grinned wolfishly and waved to him. Patrick grimaced and immediately turned around to go back inside.

“Hey! Patrick!” Ryan called, and Patrick flinched. He did _not_ want to talk to Ryan. Not after those few days ago.

Patrick knew that he couldn’t run away, so he turned around to see Ryan walking towards him, waving a hand.

“Hi,” he replied curtly.

“What are you so grumpy about?” Ryan said smoothly, wrapping an arm around Patrick’s shoulders. He tried to pull away, but Ryan’s grip was like steel.

“Let go of me,” Patrick grumbled.

“I think we should talk for a minute, don’t you?” Ryan asked, mischief tinging his voice. Before Patrick could protest, Ryan turned him around and walked the both of them inside. Patrick started to panic silently – he _knew_ that Ryan would try to attack him again, but he hoped that he might have a few more days of peace before he tried. He didn’t think Ryan would try so soon.

Patrick looked around, looking for Brendon. Since talking to him when he was first admitted to the prison infirmary, he hadn’t seen him since. He was worried, and as much as he didn’t like to admit it, if he had to defend himself against Ryan again, he probably wouldn’t be able to without Brendon.

The panic stirred his stomach, and he had to push down the bile back down his gullet.

“I think we have a little bit of unfinished business,” Ryan whispered huskily in Patrick’s ear.

“What do you want?” Patrick replied, refusing to admit that he had just whimpered.

“To finish what I started one year ago,” Ryan replied, “But not in the way you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a thought, Stump.”

“That’s dangerous.” Ryan snorted.

“I’m glad your sense of humour is still intact.”

“Are you really?”

“Anyway,” Ryan continued, “If I just kill you, you’ll just join Brendon in the afterlife and it’ll by happily ever after.”

“And?” Patrick sounded impatient, but he stomach was knotted in anticipation for whatever Ryan was planning.

“So why kill you?” Ryan shrugged. “You’d have your happily ever after, and I’ll just get into more trouble. It was worth it, killing Brendon, but killing you and you ending up happy anyway? That’s no fun.”

“What do you want?” It was uncontrollable, the way his voice wavered. Ryan smiled, a full grin baring all of his teeth. It unsettled Patrick, especially as they had ended up in the bathrooms again. Not a single soul was around. Ryan unlatched himself from Patrick and then shut the bathroom door, so that they had the entire bathroom all to themselves. Not that Patrick was very happy about it.

“I’m going to break you.” Patrick jumped as he felt Ryan’s breathe tickle against his ear, and he immediately whipped around and pushed Ryan away from him.

“This ends now,” Patrick warned. He was _not_ going lie down and roll over for Ryan.

“Oh no,” Ryan purred, “You’ll find that this is just for the beginning.”

* * *

 

Brendon opened his eyes for the first time in what seemed like forever, and immediately he saw that he was nowhere familiar. In fact, he was floating in a very dark space.

“Where am I?” he said, his voice echoing out. “Hello?” he called out. His voice simply echoed off into the distance again.

“Do you know what you have done?” a voice asked him.

“Sorry?” Brendon was confused.

“You are a departed spirit of the living, who is unfortunately stuck between their world and the next. However, there are rules.”

“Rules?”

“I shall explain. First, you must not meddle in the affairs of the living, unless it aids with your passing on to the next world.”

“Oh. Does that mean I’m in trouble then?”

“You catch on quickly,” the voice chuckled. “I am glad. Also, the same rules govern the dead as they do the living.”

“Like?”

“Standard morality issues, such as do not attack other people, do not steal from other people, etcetera. Even if you are a spirit who is stuck between the living world and the next, these rules still govern you and can influence which world you go to when you finally pass on.”

“Like heaven and hell?”

“That is the basic idea the world of the living has, yes.”

“So why am I here?”

“Your spirit was transported here when you nearly depleted your energy attacking Ryan Ross. You will stay here until your soul energy has been recharged and you have survived enough time for the transgression of meddling in the living world’s affairs.” Brendon sighed, and laid his head back down to rest on air.

“I see.”

“Do not worry – it will not feel the time passing. You will be out of here before you know it.”

“I hope so.” Brendon sighed, as he felt the presence slip away. He prayed that Patrick would be okay.


	14. Chapter 14

The call came on a late Sunday afternoon, while Pete was trying to get some sleep on his couch. He groaned and reached around for the vibrating object on his coffee table, and successfully managed to locate it blind.

“Hello?” he said sleepily into his phone.

“It’s Frank,” Frank replied. His voice was more high-pitched than usual, and he was rushing his words. He was panicked.

“Hey, are you alright?” Pete asked, concerned, as he had immediately picked up on his panicked voice.

“It’s about Gerard,” Frank replied, and Pete’s heart stopped in his chest.

“No,” Pete whispered softly, without even realising he was saying it.

“He had an accident. He fell down the stairs and broke his arm.” Pete almost burst out laughing if Frank hadn’t sounded so serious.

“Falling down a flight of stone stairs isn’t exactly the greatest idea. But what’s really got you into such a mess?”

“He hit his head on the way down… he hasn’t woken up since…” Pete sucked in a breath.

“I’m on my way now. Except I don’t know which way I’m supposed to go.”

“Northwestern Memorial Hospital, in the ICU unit on the 2nd floor.”

“The Northwestern Memorial? Wasn’t that where…”

“It was the nearest hospital they could get him to. It’s not like I like it either, and as soon as he’s in a stable condition, I’m moving him to a different hospital.”

“Good call. I’ll be there now.”

While in his car driving on the congested roads of Chicago, he couldn’t help but think how eerily similar that call Frank just gave him was to the call he gave to Gerard, all those months ago when Mikey was first in the accident. The same panicked tone, the words of ‘It’s about Mikey…’

Pete shook his head, almost causing him to swerve onto the pavement. There was no way that Gerard was going to die like Mikey. He only hit his head. Just a little bump. Nothing to worry about, right? It was probably just a minor concussion.

 _Just a minor concussion._ Keep telling yourself a lie, and eventually it will become the truth.

Pete groaned out loudly in frustration when he saw that there was an accident at the next intersection. The traffic was moving at a snail’s pace, and he felt like it was getting close to gridlock. He smashed his fist into his wheel, making a loud honk emit from his car.

 _Doesn’t anybody understand that I’m in a rush?!_ It’s totally not like the man he thought of as a brother hadn’t been in an accident – a silly accident, one that would have made him laugh if it hadn’t been as serious as it was – and was possibly in critical condition.

 _It’s just a minor concussion,_ he had to remind himself.

His fingers itched as he was finally able to move forward a few metres, but the hospital still loomed in the far distance, seemingly taunting him.

_If you’re not fast enough, you’ll run out of time._

Gerard was in the ICU, but it wasn’t like he was going to die.

Not yet.

Not so soon after Mikey.

After flying down some side roads to try and skip the traffic, (honestly, what was Gerard thinking, getting himself injured at the same time some lunatic decides to drive into a lamppost?) Pete finally managed to get a parking space in front of the hospital, and he flew inside. He got into the elevator and took it to the second level – where the ICU was. He ran out of the elevator, only realising when he did was that he had no idea which ward Gerard was supposed to be in.

“Pete!” he head Frank calling him. He looked ahead to see Frank sprinting towards him, and almost barrelling into him.

“Whoa!” Pete called out, as he put his arms out to catch Frank.

“Sorry,” Frank mumbled, “Hospital floors are slippery, and all that.” Pete chuckled, knowing that Frank wasn’t even trying to cover up his apparent clumsiness.

“It’s fine,” Pete replied, steadying Frank on his own two feet. “Where’s Gerard?”

“He’s awake,” Frank breathed out, and Pete felt himself deflate, all of the adrenaline and tension leaving him at the command of the reassuring words.

“Can I see him?”

“Of course.” Pete started to follow Frank down the corridor. “The doctor says that his head is mostly fine, but if we were to shave his head, we would see one ugly bruise. His arm? Not so much.”

“I tell you man, those stone stairs…”

“Exactly the problem. He smashed his arm pretty badly on the way down, and it only got worse. It’s an open, complex break, one of the worst. The doctor only just managed to set a few of the pieces back in, and they’re planning to operate on him as soon as one of the operating rooms are open. It’s pretty busy at the moment, people are getting injured left, right and centre.”

“I can imagine,” Pete replied lamely, clucking his tongue. “It’s the start of the winter holidays for most kids. And what better way to celebrate than with a bottle of beer?”

“We’ve certainly been there, haven’t we?” Frank admitted with a chuckle, and Pete couldn’t help but think of Patrick for a moment. He was only about five years younger than he was, but Pete had been sober since his parents convinced him to go to rehab ten years ago, when he was 20. Pete had to wonder why such a good kid like him drank.

“Peeeeeeeeetttteeeee?” a New Jersey accent drawled out, and Pete found himself chuckling despite himself.

“Geraaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrddd?” Pete drawled out right back at him, imitating the accent as perfectly as he could – which was pretty darn close, if he said so himself. Gerard chuckled, but it was a weak, and was barely resonant.

“So, quite the situation I got myself into, right?” Gerard said, motioning his head to his right arm. It didn’t have many bandages wrapped around it – there wasn’t much point, considering that the doctors were about to operate on him. Pete could clearly see dark bruises wrapping his arm like the bandages that were supposed to be there, and under the loose bandages he could see the breaks of his skin. He winced – it must have hurt like hell.

“Can’t you feel anything?” Pete asked.

“I’m so high on morphine, I can’t feel much of anything right now. Not even my own toes.”

“And while you were falling?”

“It was just a few moments of panic, then a few moments of weightlessness, next thing it’s bye-bye Gerard and hello hospital.” Pete chuckled. “That joke sounded like it could be better.”

“I’m not saying anything. You had a minor concussion, or something like that after all.” Gerard snorted.

“Concussion, con-smussion. Nothing I can’t deal with.” Frank shook his head.

“You should still be more careful,” Frank said under his breath.

“That’s why we’re carpeting the whole house when we get back. If it’s not adult-proof, how is a kid supposed to be safe in there?” Pete’s eyes widened, along with Gerard’s as he realised his mistake.

“I mean, uh…” Frank said, trying to cover up his partner’s mistake, “We were only thinking about one.”

“That’s the truth, but it’s a strong maybe,” Gerard added, grinning. Pete smiled warmly.

“You would make a great father,” he said.

“Thanks,” Gerard replied.

“Mr. Way, it’s time for your operation,” one of the nurses butted in, poking her head in the doorway. She was followed by a couple of male nurses who was handling a gurney.

“About time,” Gerard said, but there was no malice in his voice.

“Don’t die,” Pete said jokingly, as Gerard’s bed was lifted onto the bed.

“I’ll try not to. I’ll see you soon.” Pete and Frank watched as he was wheeled out of the ward.

“That was a poor choice of words,” Frank noted.

“I suppose, but it’s relevant.”

“I guess.”

Later that night, Gerard finally awoke from the anaesthetic to a dark and empty room. He immediately felt lonely, and still did even when a nurse came in to check up on him. But she seemed a little odd – the uniform didn’t seem quite right, and she was missing an ID tag around her neck. Yet she continued her work with a clipboard in hand, checking his vitals and looking busy. She left soon afterwards, but after a few minutes of trying to get back to sleep, another nurse, the one who had helped transport him to the operating room, came in, looking very composed as she took longer to check all of his vitals.

 _That’s odd,_ his sleep-addled mind thought, _Perhaps I was just imagining that other woman._

He paid no other mind to the other nurse with short blonde hair, who was wearing lots of eye make-up, and decided that he would sleep.

_But it was so odd…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I am purposely torturing you.
> 
> Anyway, thank you everyone for all the positive comments, they really make my day and inspire me to write more. I also can't believe I have a hundred kudos now! Yaaaaaay! The success of this story is making me really happy. Anyway, I'll try and update ASAP again.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: attempted rape. I think you can skip this chapter if it upsets you, although reading the end might be of interest.
> 
> Just as a sort of disclaimer, I don't endorse rape at all. I only included it in this chapter - and this is the ONLY chapter that is going to have something as bad as this - because it made sense in my head for something like this to happen. And if you're thinking about raping somebody, don't. Just don't. You can ruin their lives. Rape is traumatizing and one may not be able to get over it for a long time. If you have been raped, please know it's never your fault and please get the help you need. The sooner you can get it, the better.

Brendon stared up into the darkness, still floating on the air in a lying down position. He had no idea how much time had passed – when he had suddenly lost his sense of time, and having nothing to accompany him but his thoughts, it was hard to keep track.

It was odd, losing his sense of time – that disembodied voice was right, saying that he wouldn’t be able to count the seconds passing by, but it was still so _odd._ He had suddenly forgotten what it felt for an hour, a minute, a second to pass by.

But no matter.

But these past few moments, or whatever instances of time – he honestly had given up on keeping track of time – he had felt a growing sense of panic. It was as if someone close to him was in trouble, but he had no way of knowing that for sure.

 _Has Ryan already returned?_ Brendon thought, and a sick feeling entered his stomach. If Patrick died…

He sat up straight, and his sense of panic only grew stronger. Patrick _can’t_ be sent to the afterlife. Granted, Brendon would probably be able to move on with Patrick, but if he was being honest with himself, the afterlife scared the living shit out of him. It was unknown to him, that’s for sure, but with everything he has heard about this so called afterlife… it seemed so different from the living world. The disembodied voice earlier made it clear that the living the world and the afterlife were two different things, but just how different were they from each other?

His fear grew as he began pacing the dark space. Patrick had to be okay – he knew to not talk to Ryan, and he probably knew to avoid situations where he could be easily be attacked, but Ryan was devious. He had managed to lure Brendon away in order to kill him before – thank god Patrick could see that something wasn’t right and came to find Brendon, but it was too late. Brendon had been murdered, and Ryan was found perched on top of the dead body’s stomach.

Brendon could still see the glint of the knife raised about his chest, the manic glint in Ryan’s eye, hear the sound of flesh ripping apart under the might of the knife and the tortured scream that was ripped from his throat-

Then something happened that Brendon couldn’t quite comprehend. There was a flash of light, and Brendon yelped in surprised and covered his eyes – a purely reflexive action that he didn’t _actually_ need to do anymore, but hey, old habits die hard – and when he looked again, there was a hole under his feet. Through it he immediately recognised the prison’s bathrooms, but then gasped as he saw Patrick pinned underneath Ryan, Ryan saying something that Brendon couldn’t really hear. All sound was garbled, a whoosh of air that went through one of his ears and then out the others.

And then Ryan was at Patrick’s trousers, pulling them down.

And Brendon was on his knees, banging the floor with his fists, desperate to break through-

 _You may not interfere with the affairs of the living!_ the disembodied voice reminded him through his memory, but Brendon didn’t care.

 _Screw that! I can’t just let Patrick be-_ A desperate sob escaped his throat.

Suddenly, all at once the floor shattered beneath him like glass.

And he was falling, falling, falling.

* * *

 

“Oh no,” Ryan purred, “You’ll find that this is just for the beginning.”

Patrick knew immediately that he had to fight – fight against whatever it was that Ryan wanted to do to him.

He got into some sort of fighting stance, one where he dropped his body weight lower to the ground and put his fists up, and tried to look aggressive.

Ryan laughed at him.

“Cute,” he laughed, shaking his head. He advanced towards him. “You see, you still have an air of innocence about you.” He leaned in close to Patrick’s face, cupping his chin with his thumb and pointer finger. “I want that innocence.”

Patrick socked his fist straight into Ryan’s stomach, and he doubled over, holding his injured stomach.

“You _ass,_ ” Ryan growled out, and launched at Patrick. Patrick was knocked off balance as Ryan tackled him, and they were both sent tumbling to the floor. When Patrick finally got his wits about him, he saw that Ryan was on his hands and knees, hovering about him. He blanched. He was fucked.

“Oh, fuck me,” Patrick said, panicked, before he could help himself. Ryan grinned.

“Gladly,” he replied, and immediately wrapped his fingers around Patrick’s waist band and pulled his trousers down.

Patrick yelped in surprise as his black boxer briefs were revealed. Ryan grinned maniacally as he examined his prey. Patrick scowled and punched Ryan in the jaw. He was pleased to see that Ryan stopped grinning, but instead Ryan growled and pinned Patrick’s wrists above his head.

“That’s enough,” he growled again, then leant in to lick the shell of Patrick’s ear. “I’m going to fucking break you.”

“That’s enough indeed, Ryan,” a new voice said, though it seemed slightly disorientated. Patrick’s eyes lit up in hope as he saw Brendon standing behind Ryan, standing tall and defiant in place of Patrick (who knew he was weak,) something flashing behind him.

“Talk about my knight in shining armour,” Patrick joked.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” Ryan growled, raising his voice.

“You’re the one who’s trying to ruin Patrick,” Brendon pointed out. Ryan growled again, standing up over Patrick and looking over his shoulder to glance at Brendon.

“Smart-ass.”

“You’ve always been the dumb one.” Ryan whipped around to face Brendon, leaving Patrick to recoil away from him and curl up in the corner of the bathroom. Brendon had already smacked a punch straight into Ryan’s face, causing him to fall to the floor and hit his head. Ryan screamed out in pain, holding his head in order to protect it from any more damage. It hadn’t cracked, but he would have a nasty bruise.

“Patrick,” Brendon said, looking at him. “There’s a guard on his way here. I’m going to knock him out, and then you must say that you did it in self-defence, because he attacked you again.”

“Okay,” Patrick replied, standing up on his feet. He watched numbly as Brendon threaded his fingers through Ryan’s hair.

“Please… don’t…” Ryan sobbed. Brendon was silent as he raised Ryan’s head and smashed it down onto the bathroom tiles. He was instantly knocked out.

“Go, now,” Brendon said, smiling warmly at Patrick.

“What about you?” Patrick asked, as he turned towards the exit. Brendon’s smile turned slightly sad.

“I’ll be back, don’t you worry.” Patrick nodded, then dashed out of the bathroom.

Brendon closed his eyes as he felt the familiar darkness envelop him again.

“I hope you are happy now,” that same, disembodied voice called to him, “Now it may be a long time until you see your beloved again.”

He opened eyes, to see the same inky darkness surrounding him.

“Was it worth it?” the voice asked him.

Brendon closed his eyes again.

“Everything is worth it.”

* * *

 

Patrick soon found the guard that Brendon was talking about, and explained that Ryan had tried to attack him again, but he managed to knock him out. They carried Ryan’s unconscious form out of the bathroom, and he was told that he should go back to his cell to rest. He followed the suggestion.

He lay down on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He was honestly so embarrassed that Ryan had tried to rape him – what if Brendon hadn’t been there? Then…

He realised that Ryan would probably get off lightly again, and that Ryan would go after him again.

“He can’t,” he whimpered. If Ryan was roaming around again, he might have to stay in his cell for good until Ryan gets into more trouble.

 _As if that’s going to happen,_ Patrick thought, _He’s only after me, and nobody else._

And what about Brendon? He had disappeared soon after Ryan’s first attack, and he only came back today to defend Patrick. What was going on? And what about now? Had he really managed to kill himself by defending him?

Patrick rolled onto his side, and his tears started to fall down his cheeks. He hadn’t cried for a long time – he was a grown man, for crying out loud – but now, since going to prison, being attacked and possibly losing Brendon… it was all too much for one person to bear.

A violent sob escaped from his body, and soon he was a mess, just praying for the world to end so that he wouldn’t suffer any more.

_Is this how Pete feels? Utterly hopeless and lost without Mikey, like I feel lost without Brendon? Isn’t this just a taste of the pain and grief Pete has suffered through? Maybe I deserve this…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly cringed a lot while writing this chapter.
> 
> Anyway, if you're getting overly upset about Patrick having a hard time (don't make a joke about that, please,) don't worry, the worst of the Stump abuse ends here.
> 
> As always, please leave a comment, and if you haven't already, hit the kudos button! If you have any suggestions or constructive criticism, I'm completely open to that as well. See you next time!


	16. Chapter 16

****The next few days for Patrick were far more peaceful than the days spent with Ryan. Clearly, Ryan had been punished – how, he wasn’t sure – as he hadn’t seen for him for a few days. He heard that he had been sent into solitary confinement, and he was inclined to believe it. It made him feel so relieved.

He had come to terms with what had happened those fateful few days ago, and he felt really lucky and relieved that Brendon had come through for him. He didn’t even want to think about what could have happened if Ryan went through with what he was planning.

He couldn’t, really. The thought of it was so frightening.

Speaking of Brendon, ever since he saved him from Ryan again, he hadn’t seen him again. He was worried – he had been gone since Ryan’s first attack, then only appeared again for Ryan’s second attack – Patrick wondered what the hell was going on. He was worried that Brendon had been over-exerting himself, and wondered if he managed to kill himself this time around.

He started chewing his nails, feeling a familiar tight feeling coil around his heart. It was the same feeling he had got when Brendon disappeared the first time – the absolute fear that he was gone. Patrick was meant to help Brendon pass on to the next world, not let him get himself killed.

But he wouldn’t allow himself to believe that he was gone.

Not yet.

Not so soon.

 _Brendon’s just resting,_ he reassured himself, _He’ll be back before you know it._

He looked at the door of his cell – he knew it was unlocked at the moment, as it was the inmates’ free time at the moment. He didn’t really want to go outside – from one perspective, it could seem as if he would rather wallow in his own misery – but, as he was trying convince himself, he wasn’t going out because it wouldn’t do him much good anyway to face the other inmates. It wasn’t like he was friends with any of them. He only needed Brendon in this hellhole, and he was perfectly happy with that. Except now, with him gone, his cell felt strangely empty, and he himself felt fairly lonely (only fairly, though… well, okay, maybe he felt totally isolated.)

He sighed, jiggling his legs a bit. If he was being perfectly honest, he was a bit restless at the moment – although wallowing in self-pity and looking way too deep into his feelings was a ‘fun’ way to pass the time, his body was restless. He could only keep his mind occupied for so long before the urge to something physical took over.

He sighed again, louder, then swung his legs so he was sitting on the edge of his bed. His brain concocted another argument on why he should go outside – Brendon wouldn’t want him to be isolated and feeling like shit because of him. And he knew that if Brendon found him like this when (not if) he came back, he wouldn’t forgive himself if Patrick was in a bad state.

He finally stood up and left his cell, his feet walking him down the familiar route to prison courtyard. The prison was truly a dreary place – movies had not exaggerated how dull and horrible this place was. He was glad that he hadn’t been put into a high-security prison, as he was sure he would have been in many more fights and have Brendon save him again and again. And maybe, if Brendon did have to keep saving him, his soul would eventually dissipate.

Patrick hoped to God that Brendon was alright.

As he reached the courtyard, he noticed immediately that outside, there was bus full with new inmates beyond the fence. The current inmates watched with a morbid curiosity as the inmates had to line up and walk into the entrance. Patrick felt a certain amount of sympathy for them, as they were about to go through normal prison procedure and be stripped and hosed down. He felt an involuntary shudder go through his body as memories of when he was first sent to this prison went through his mind.

The throng of people that were grouping themselves at the fence intimidated Patrick, so he stayed a fair distance away from main concentration of people. His eyes locked with one of the new inmates – a man around his age, perhaps a bit older, who had slightly reddish hair and a beard to match. Patrick frowned – he looked faintly familiar, but he couldn’t place where he had seen him before. He ripped his eyes away and shook his head. Maybe he had seen him on the street before? In a café? A restaurant?

Patrick suddenly remembered with a jolt where he had seen the man – he was at his trial for Mikey’s manslaughter. He was sitting next to Pete…

Patrick groaned lightly and rubbed his temples. He had a feeling that things were about to get a whole lot worse.

* * *

 

Pete was sprinting down the hall of the hospital, a phone in his hand (which was getting dangerously close to getting dropped) and being completely oblivious to the looks he was getting from the doctors, patients and other visitors. His head was trying to process the hurried call he had just got from Frank, saying that something had happened with Gerard at the hospital and he was so panicked and he didn’t know what to do and-

He was abruptly snatched from his thoughts when he felt himself collide into something, and he fell to the floor in a sprawled heap. He opened his eyes and his eyes landed on a women who had fallen over onto her rear – one of the nurses, judging from her uniform. She had an angular chin but a beautiful face which was framed with short, light blonde hair. She wore a lot of eyeliner and eyeshadow around her grey eyes. Around her were scattered folders and papers, and Pete realised that he had knocked her over.

 _Way to go, daydreamer,_ he scolded himself mentally.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, scrambling to his feet so he could help the nurse up. She took his hand gratefully and he pulled her onto her feet.

“Not a problem, it happens,” she replied, not seeming worried at all. Pete went down on his knees to collect up all her papers. “Oh no, please, let me do that-“

“I ran into you, it’s the least I can do,” Pete insisted, standing up again and handing her the folders.

“Thank you,” she said, then leaned into Pete a little. “What were you running for, anyway?”

“I just got a call from one of my best friends, he said something about his boyfriend, that it was an emergency, so I just came running, y’know?”

“I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. “What’s your name?”

“Pete Wentz, and yours?”

“Ashlee Simpson. Can I offer you a drink? I think you deserve it.” Pete’s mind went blank at the offer for a second, then restarted again with thousands of thoughts. She was basically asking for a date, but Pete wasn’t sure if he wanted to try dating again, even if it’s just casually-

 _Oh screw it, it’s just a drink_ , he thought.

“That would be nice,” he replied, then gave her a smile. “It’ll be on me, though. Consider it as an apology for crashing into you.”

“The Pitch & Roll, at seven?”

“Sounds great. I’m sorry, but I really have to go.”

“I understand. See you tonight!”

“See ya.” Pete dashed off again, though more of a jog than a sprint, and quickly rounded the corner and burst into the ward that Gerard was staying in.

“Pete,” Frank greeted, though his tone was dead. He looked tired, and his eyes were bloodshot. He was sitting on the chair next to Gerard’s bed, and he was holding Gerard’s hand with both of his hands.

“I got here as soon as you called me. What’s going on?” Pete asked, and noticed that Gerard appeared to be sleeping.

“It’s Gerard,” Frank replied, but his voice caught, and tears sprang into his eyes. “It’s Gerard, god, Pete, he’s in a coma.”

Pete froze completely, as he comprehended what Frank had said. He stared at Gerard, who seemed to be soundly sleeping. Unfortunately, he was sleeping much deeper than what one may expect.

“How…?” Pete began, but found that his throat was dry.

“Someone poisoned him. The doctors said that there is no way he could have gone into a coma, as he didn’t injure his head too badly – brain scans showed that, so they took a blood test and found that he’s been poisoned.” Frank paused as he took a shaky breath, tears rolling down his face. “It’s a rare poison. They don’t have the cure for it here, so they’re bringing it from another hospital. I’m so scared Pete…”

“I can’t believe it. I…” Pete was at a loss for words. He kneeled down next to Frank’s chair, watching Gerard as he slept, oblivious to everything.

“I’m so scared. Someone must have targeted him,” Frank whispered. “What if…”

“Don’t even say it.” Pete shook his head. “We’re okay, and Gerard’s going to be okay. Everyone is going to be okay…” He rested his head on the mattress, sighing deeply.

They stayed silent for a while, listening to the constant beeping of the heart monitor and the bustle of nurses outside the door. Pete fell asleep at one time, and was woken up by one of the nurses.

“I’m sorry sir, but visiting times are over,” she said nervously. Pete groaned slightly, raising his head from the bed.

“Okay, I’ll go now,” he replied sleepily. He stood up as the nurse left, limping a bit as he had to shake his legs back to life. He checked his phone and saw that it was 4:55. He saw Frank was still sitting in the chair, but he was not planning to leave.

“I’m staying overnight,” he said as a way of explanation.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise,” Pete promised, turning to leave.

“I know you will.”

“Take care.”

“Will do.” Pete went out of the ward, reluctantly. He was still worried half to death about Gerard, but he knew that he was going to be kicked out of the hospital sooner or later.

He remembered that he had a date – sort of – with Ashlee later, but he felt incredibly unmotivated to go after what happened with Gerard. Then again, he would be rude to not go, and it might help him feel better…

Pete sighed, already knowing that he was going to. Time to get ready, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not worry, my dear readers. This chapter may seem incredibly angsty, and you might get pissy at me for putting in a bit of Ashlee x Pete, but don't worry, Peterick is coming sooner than you believe ;)


	17. Chapter 17

Pete walked into the Pitch & Roll at 7 o’ clock on the dot, and saw that Ashlee was already sitting at the bar, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a somewhat low-cut t-shirt. She glanced at the entrance and saw Pete was walking towards her, so she smiled and sat upright. Pete smiled back at her and made his way to the bar.

“I was beginning to wonder if you weren’t going to show up,” Ashlee said, though she smiled warmly.

“I’m right on time!” Pete protested.

“It wasn’t about the time,” Ashlee began hurriedly, trying to fix her misinterpreted statement, “I was thinking about how you were in such a rush in the hospital, and wondered if who you were visiting was actually okay or not, and whether or not you would actually be up to coming here.”

“Hey, if I say I’m going to be there, I’ll be there, I would never stand anybody up. I’m not that shallow.”

“I’m glad you’re here. I was hoping that this evening wouldn’t be lonely.” Ashlee smiled warmly, but Pete couldn’t help but feel defensive.

“I just want you to know that I’m not looking for a serious relationship, before you get the wrong idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I recently lost my boyfriend in a car accident.” Pete felt tears prickle at the back of his eyes, but bit them back. “I was only recently, and he was the first serious relationship I had.”

“I’m so sorry.” Ashlee sounded really genuine, which made Pete look at her – _really_ look at her. Her eyes only held sincerity, but there was something troubling about it with Pete. “Hey, this doesn’t have to be a date, okay? Just a couple of friends hanging out, and having a good time. How about that?”

“Sounds good. I haven’t got anything better to do.” _Except wallow in self-pity and wonder about how Patrick is doing._

_Patrick…_

“Would you like a drink, young man?” the bartender asked Pete.

“Just a Guinness beer, thanks,” Pete replied. Ashlee raised an eyebrow.

“I thought someone like you would be into strong stuff,” she said, swirling around her own margarita before taking a sip of it for emphasis.

“Not anymore – when I get drunk, I either get violent, or I hit on every woman and man in the area. Trust me, it’s not a pretty sight,” Pete replied with a chuckle.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Ashlee giggled, though there was a naughty glint in her eye.

* * *

 

Later on, after the newest convicts had arrived at the prison, Patrick had to go to the mess hall in order to get dinner. He had a feeling that he would have to face Pete’s friend, but decided that eating was more important than avoiding hard feelings from one of Pete’s – and therefore Mikey’s – friend.

He entered the hall and quickly got in line with a tray to get today’s special – Slop Deluxe. Patrick hadn’t expected prison life to be glamourous, but getting food akin to high school lunches was ridiculous.

After he got his _absolutely scrumptious-looking_ dinner, he made his way to his usual table, which was normally unoccupied, but found that Pete’s friend was sitting there. He sighed, and decided that, sooner or later, he would have to face him. It was certainly a better idea than trying to budge into one of the tables that was already occupied.

He sighed, then resigned to his fate and quickly approached the table, capturing the attention of the ginger sitting there.

“I didn’t think you would sit with me,” the ginger said quietly.

“There’s nowhere else to sit – besides from next to assholes – and this is where I normally sit anyway,” Patrick replied, a little curter than he meant.

“I’m sorry, I can move-“

“It’s fine. Stay.” Patrick sighed, then picked up his cutlery to start eating his food. He was surprised when the other man was still silent. “Well, aren’t you going to say something? Say how I was so wrong to kill Mikey? That it was all my fault and that I deserve the death sentence?”

“Why would I say something like that?” The ginger looked at Patrick curiously as he took a sip of his water.

“Weren’t you one of Mikey’s friends?”

“Yes, but I accept that you’re not completely at fault for his death. I believe that what you did was stupid and irresponsible, but from I’ve heard, you’re really sorry for what you’ve done.” At Patrick’s confused expression, he added, “I talk to Pete a lot.”

“Oh.”

“My name is Andy, by the way.”

“I’m Patrick, but you already knew that.”

“Yeah, but I’ll pretend that I didn’t. It’s good to meet you properly.” Andy extended a hand towards Patrick, which Patrick grabbed and shook firmly.

 _I’m glad that someone who’s not dead is on my side,_ Patrick thought, a small smile gracing the corners of his lips.

* * *

 

“You wanna talk about what happened today?” Ashlee asked Pete after he had drunk two beers. And two shots of vodka, at Ashlee’s insistence.

“Not really,” Pete replied, slurring his words a little. Ashlee frowned. She hadn’t expected Pete to hold his liquor as well as he was. Most guys she knew who had that much would be shit-faced drunk by now. However, much to her surprise, the drunker he got, the more difficult it became to get him to consume more.

“Do you want another shot?” Ashlee asked, hoping he would say yes.

“No, I’ve really had too much to drink. I’m only tipsy, but I don’t wanna get any worse than this,” Pete replied.

“Oh,” Ashlee said, slightly disappointed but not any less determined.

“I’m glad I’m here though. It’s really been a couple of shitty months,” Pete continued, leaning on one elbow.

“I guessed, considering your boyfriend died,” Ashlee replied.

“It’s more than that.” Pete sighed, his eyes becoming more unfocused. “Mikey was hit by a drunk driver. They took him to hospital, and, well, the hospital managed to fix him up, except they missed something. He died of internal bleeding they didn’t detect. When they got round to convicting the guy who hit him, he was only convicted of drunk driving and… bodily harm. Or something like that.” Ashlee nodded. She had known that much from the newspapers. “But I’ve been visiting the dude in prison… and he doesn’t seem that bad. He feels really shit for, like, killing Mikey, but… I’ve been liking him a little too much.” She frowned, wondering what he meant by ‘liking.’ “I’ve been confused and shit, because I love Mikey, y’know? And to make things worse, his brother’s in hospital now.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I could help you somehow.”

“You’re helping me right now, just by being here.” Pete smiled, which earned a giggle from Ashlee.

“Glad I am. Hey, why don’t we go down to a nightclub?” He thought about it for a second, but in his alcohol-hazed mind, a bit of fun didn’t seem like a bad idea.

“Sounds great. Let’s go!” He slid off the stool, but nearly stumbled to the ground because of his lack of balance. Ashlee giggled, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“Careful there,” she said while giggling.

“I’m fine!” He waved the bartender over. “You have my credit card details, right? Just charge everything on there.”

“Sure thing sir, and thank you,” the bartender replied, “Have a good night!”

“You too!”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Ashlee said as they exited the bar.

“It’s only fair, I drank the most,” Pete pointed out with a shrug. “Anyway, let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Am. So. Sorry.
> 
> I wrote like half of this chapter a couple of months ago, then I got severe writers block considering what to do for the rest of it >.> but I pushed through in little bits and finally got it done.
> 
> I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do for the next chapter, lol. I have a rough idea, but... ehhhh.
> 
> Anyway, sorry again, and I hope I didn't disappoint you with this chapter, 'cause of the long wait and all.


	18. Chapter 18

Pete groaned as he returned to the conscious world, his eyes opening slightly before shutting again reflexively as the morning light burned into his retinas. He rolled over, noticing how nice the silk sheets felt against his skin, but realised something was very wrong.

I don't have silk sheets at home, and I always sleep with a duvet... he thought sleepily. He tried to bat away the fog that rested over his mind in order to try and remember what had happened the previous night. He clearly remembered going to the bar to meet Ashlee, and things started to get a little blurry after they left and went to the nightclub, which definitely was not one of Pete's best ideas, as his memory blacked out not long after he got to the nightclub. He remembered distinct sounds - the pounding of music, glass breaking, people shouting, and the sound of moans...

Pete realised that he screwed up, and probably slept with someone who he definitely did not want to sleep with. A painful peek at his bed partner confirmed it, her sleeping form casually spread out on her half of the double bed. He deduced that they were at her apartment, and that it was early in the morning - which was not helpful. He needed to sleep more. But he had an odd thought - they were most likely at her apartment, which meant that she couldn't have been as drunk as him and be unable to get home. Did she plan this?

Either way, it was way too early and far too painful to think too much at the moment. He also had to figure out what to do about her in the long run, but, again, it was too early and he really needed more sleep.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but eventually he woke up again, but this time Ashlee was missing from the bed, but he could hear footsteps coming from one of the other rooms. He tried opening his eyes and found that the sun was much more bearable. He sat up slowly, trying not to aggravate the headache that was throbbing away at his temples, and found there was a glass of water and a bottle painkillers on the bedside table. He reached over and opened the bottle, taking two pills and quickly downing them with the glass of water, and laid back down to wait for his headache to go away.

“Looks like you’re awake,” he heard a few minutes later, and he opened his eyes to see Ashlee standing over him wearing just a dressing gown.

“Barely,” Pete mumbled, “How did I get so drunk last night?”

“You were feeling pretty bad,” Ashlee replied, “You kept talking about Mikey and Gerard and about another dude called Patrick, so I took you to the club and got you loosened up. We had fun.”

“Did we have sex?” he asked, immediately wincing at how bad it sounded.

“Yes,” Ashlee replied, fidgeting nervously.

“Oh, man, that’s pretty shitty-“ He cut himself, cursing his hungover brain. “I mean, that was shit of me. Bad planning. It isn’t exactly the right time for this sort of thing… shit, it wasn’t because you pitied me, was it?”

“Of course not,” Ashlee said with a snort. “You’re a good guy, and I was somewhat hoping to get in a relationship, but…”

 _Oh god,_ Pete thought, his mind going into overdrive. _What do I do? I can’t just go, that would make me an asshole. And I’m not an asshole. Oh god, what do I do?_

“It doesn’t even have to be serious, it’s just…” She looked away, biting slightly on her bottom lip. “I just recently broke up with my boyfriend. It was a good relationship at first, but he got more and more scary and he started threatening me, and once he even hit me. Even though it’s over, I just feel… a bit lonely.” She looked at Pete again. “I’m sorry, that was unfair of me, I just…”

“It’s fine,” Pete interrupted, “I probably didn’t sound too good last night, if I kept talking about Mikey.” _And Patrick…_ “I would feel really bad if I just left you now. I think we should at least go on a proper date – one where I _don’t_ get drunk.”

“I’d like that,” Ashlee replied with a nervous giggle.

* * *

 

Patrick ran his finger over the crisp white paper of the envelope that he had received earlier in the day, wondering whether or not to actually open it. He’d never gotten a letter before – all contact he got with the outside world was via actual talking (although through telephones, at least he had been face to face with them.) He could just be over-reacting, but he felt something was off about it. Who would send him a letter? It could be hate. But he couldn’t throw it away – if it was from a friend, or someone else important…

Dammit, he was too curious either way.

He quickly ripped it open, unfolding the contents swiftly, yet with an air of impatience. It was very short, to his surprise and slight disappointment, but the contents quickly wiped the disappointment out of his mind;

_Patrick,_

_You will pay for his death._

It quickly chilled his move, making him immediately afraid of whoever sent it. It was the first bit of hate he had gotten for Mikey’s death pretty much since he was incarcerated, and it unnerved him. It was short and to the point, and he got the feeling that the sender was pretty serious.

“Patrick Stump? You have a visitor,” he heard, and turned around to see a guard peeking in through his cell door.

“Oh, okay,” Patrick replied, leaving the envelope and the letter on his small desk, and followed the guard out.

Patrick was somewhat unsurprised when he saw Pete on the other side of the glass, and, well, slightly pleased. He wasn’t too sure why he was pleased to see someone he was pretty sure still hated him.

“Hey Patrick,” Pete greeted, as soon as Patrick had the phone to his ear.

“Hi, wasn’t really expecting it would be you,” Patrick replied with a smile.

“I know, but… I guess I just felt like coming here.”

“Do you want to talk to Mikey?” Pete looked away, an incomprehensible look on his face.

“No… is he even here?” Patrick was surprised at the answer, frowning slightly.

“No, he isn’t.” There was a pause. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just… I’ve found a girlfriend.”

“That’s great!”

“But I feel bad about it. It’s more of a casual thing more than anything else, but I can’t help but feel like she wants more than that.”

“Well, try not to get her hopes up about it.” An inexplicable emotion welled up in his chest, and Patrick couldn’t help but frown slightly at it.

“I guess that’s the best thing to do about it…” Pete sighed. “How’s Mikey? Have you seen him around?”

“Well, we don’t really talk much, considering,” Patrick replied with a laugh, making Pete laugh with him. “He seems okay. Concerned about you – he keeps going off all over the place, and I can only assume that he does it to check up on you.”

“That’s nice to know.” Pete smiled. “And how are you?” Patrick was slightly taken aback at the question. Pete had never showed much concern for him before.

“I’m okay. My leg has healed up nicely, and I can pretty much walk properly now. Ryan has gone into solitary confinement, from what I’ve heard. I don’t know for how long, but I’m just glad he’s gone.”

“I’m glad that they finally punished him. He deserves it, for what he did to you.”

“Oh, by the way, a friend of yours has come here.”

“Andy? Yeah, I know. Drunk driving, and a number of other traffic offenses that he did at the time. I guess you’ve talked to him?”

“Yep. We’re actually friends. I was really surprised when he said he wanted to be friends, but… it’s nice, I guess.”

“Do you even have many friends?”

“A few, but it’s not like I’m a really social person.”

“I see. Well, don’t worry, because I’m your friend, you got that?” Patrick was surprised to hear Pete say that, and was definitely taken off guard. But when he looked into Pete’s eyes, he saw sincerity. He felt something warm in his chest, and then a blush come to his face. He looked away, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

* * *

 

“Someone has a crush~”

“Brendon?!” Brendon laughed happily, standing up from where he was sitting on Patrick’s bed.

“Yep, I’m finally back! Sheesh Stumpy, you really gotta learn how to avoid trouble!”

“It’s not like I did anything,” Patrick squeaked out, “Ryan is just a crazy son of a bitch.”

“Seconded,” Brendon said, sighing and shaking his head. “Anyway. I saw you back there.”

“I didn’t see you,” Patrick pointed out.

“You were far too focussed on your boyfriend,” Brendon teased, making Patrick blush.

“He isn’t my boyfriend,” Patrick said hotly. “Anyway, he has a girlfriend, and he probably still hates me.”

“I don’t know, he looked pretty sincere back there.” Patrick gasped as he realised something.

“His girlfriend… I felt… _jealous._ ”

“Guess you do have a crush on him after all~!” Patrick laughed sheepishly.

“Maybe… I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dammit, this took so long again ;-; I'm sorry. I don't have time to write these days. I promise I won't give up on this.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more of a filler chapter, but I'm about to post another one.

Pete adjusted his tie in his mirror for a final time, smoothing out his jacket before turning around. He had no idea why he was so nervous – this was hardly a date with someone he really liked. In fact, if he was being honest himself, he was doing it out of pity. The girl seemed so enamoured with him, and Pete couldn’t bring himself to fully reject her. Especially after he slept with her.

 

That was a serious dick move, he thought to himself, shaking his head.

 

As for Ashlee herself, he wasn’t too sure on his feelings with her. He did like her, as friends, but perhaps she would someone he’d consider going out with.

 

I basically am already.

 

After all, shouldn’t he be trying to go out with other people and having fun? He knew that’s what Mikey wanted him to do.

 

But every time I do, I feel like I’m slipping further and further away from Mikey…

 

He knew he was caught between the past and moving on. He knew he was constantly arguing for both sides. But he also knew that he made a date, and not going would make him a total asshole.

 

It wasn’t that he was looking for permission from anyone else – Mikey had already told him that he wanted him to move on – he was just trying to find the courage to move on.

 

Pete finally made his way downstairs, grabbing his wallet and keys off the cupboard by the door, and went out the front door.

 

But there was another problem with the prospect of dating Ashlee – and that was the fact that, whether Pete liked or not, he had a crush on Patrick.

 

No matter what I tell myself – that he deserves to be in prison, that he killed Mikey – I’m still drawn to him. I don’t get it.

 

Perhaps dating Ashlee would get him off his mind.

 

The night air was chilly, and Pete was tempted to take his car to the restaurant, but he knew it was a waste of petrol, considering it was within walking distance. He started walking briskly towards his destination, letting his mind wonder as his legs worked.

 

I can reject her, Pete thought. It’s my choice. She should understand. It’s not like I wanted to sleep with her.

 

Oh god. I can imagine her being really upset about it.

 

He frowned. This was not going to be easy – he felt that the whole situation was a ticking time bomb he was trying to defuse.

 

He reached the restaurant in almost no time, and he immediately felt more nervous than he already was.

 

“She’s gotta be reasonable,” he said under his breath, as he entered.

 

“Hello and welcome, sir! Do you have a reservation?” the waitress standing at the reception asked cheerfully.

 

“Yeah. Under Wentz, for two,” he replied.

 

“Right this way Mr. Wentz,” she said, and began weaving her way through the tables, towards a table at the back. His stomach dropped as soon as he saw who got there first.

 

Ashlee was waiting for him, and it was clear that she went all-out for this date. She looked stunning. She wore a midnight blue dress that hugged her slim figure and showed just the right amount of cleavage, and the make-up she had on made her look like a precious doll. He gulped. He was so screwed.

 

“Hi Ashlee,” Pete greeted smoothly, making sure to not show how much he really did notwant to be here.

 

“Good to see you again,” Ashlee greeted back, watching him as he took a seat.

 

“How are you doing?” Pete asked. May as well get the pleasantries out of the way.

 

“I’m doing very well. And you?”

 

“Good.”

 

“Hey, I don’t want you to feel bad about what happened the other night.”

 

“Yeah?” He picked up a menu in order to hide the smile that was threatening to break out across his face.

 

“Of course. I don’t want you to feel as if I’m trying to pressure you into a relationship. What happened there was an accident – you were drunk.”

 

“Must have been pretty drunk off my ass. I can’t remember the last time I was like that.”

 

“It was pretty funny, actually, until you started kissing me, or tried to-“

 

“Okay, I do not need to know how much of a fool I made myself.” He started to laugh, and Ashlee laughed with him.

 

“I won’t say anything more, then. But, I know we have to talk about this,” she said, her voice dropping into something sad. Pete’s stomach twisted.

 

“May I take your order?” the same waitress who showed Pete to his table asked.

 

“Yeah, of course,” Pete answered, smiling brightly. “I’ll have the steak with pepper sauce, medium rare, with chips, and a glass of your best red wine.”

 

“And you, ma’am?”

 

“The poached salmon salad, and the same wine as him.”

 

“Would you two like to share a bottle?”

 

“Is that okay?” Pete asked Ashlee.

 

“As long as it’s fine with you.”

 

“Then okay,” Pete replied.

 

“I’ll bring your wine now, and your food should be ready soon.”

 

“Thanks.” Ashlee waited until the waitress left the table before she started talking again.

 

“Anyway, as I was about to say… Pete, I really do like you, and I would like to date you properly, but only if you want to.” Pete sighed silently. Looking at Ashlee’s hopeful face, he knew his fate was resigned.

 

“Of course, I’d love to.” He made sure to give her a huge smile in order show how ‘happy’ he was.

 

“That’s great!” Ashlee smiled back at him, but his eyebrows furrowed slightly at her.

 

There’s something not quite right with that smile, he thought, but he already knew there wasn’t much point in saying anything.

 

“I was really doubting if you were going to say yes,” she continued, “You seemed really… ashamed or something when I told you that we slept together. I was kinda hurt.”

 

“I’m sorry about that,” Pete replied sheepishly, “It wasn’t you, I swear.”

 

“No, I get that. Anyway, that’s in the past,” she said with another smile, as the waitress brought the bottle of wine in a bucket of ice.

 

The rest of the night they spent talking and getting to know each other more, Pete becoming increasingly more comfortable.

 

This isn’t as bad as I thought it would be, he thought at one point.

 

“…and now I have a job at the prison that just opened up recently. I have to admit, I’m kinda scared, but they don’t put any of the really dangerous criminals in there. All of the maximum security prisons are doing fine, they’re not overflowing or anything,” Ashlee said, bringing Pete back into reality.

 

“Why were you fired at the hospital?” Pete asked.

 

“They’re laying off a whole bunch of doctors and nurses after the lawsuit following Mikey’s death, and I just got unlucky.” She shrugged. “At least I got another job. One of my friends who also worked at the hospital and was also laid off is struggling to find another job. So I consider myself lucky in that aspect.”

 

“Yeah,” Pete said, finding himself unable to think of something better. At that point, his phone started ringing. He frowned, pulling out the offending object out of his pocket, and switched it onto silent. His frown deepened as he saw that it was Frank who was calling. “Sorry about that, I thought I had it on silent.”

 

“No problem. Are you sure it’s nothing important?”

 

“I don’t think so…”

 

“So where do you work anyway?”

 

“I own my own record label, Decaydance.”

 

“That’s so awesome! I know Paramore is signed with you, and I love them so much! I also love…” Pete’s attention was drawn away from Ashlee’s rambling to his phone vibrating in his pocket again.

 

Frank, this really isn’t the time.

 

“I think you can expand a bit more though, you only have a few bands, and one of them of course just disbanded,” Ashlee continued, referring to My Chemical Romance. Pete winced – he really did not want to talk about them.

 

“I have a particular standard when it comes to who I sign to my label, so I can get incredibly picky.” He winced again as he felt his phone vibrate yet again with a third call. “I’m sorry, this is the third time he’s calling me. Do you mind?”

 

“It’s fine, it could be important.” She smiled.

 

“Thanks.” He pulled his phone and answered. “This better be important Frank.”

 

“Gerard’s awake. Is that important enough for you?” Frank replied sarcastically.

 

“My bad. Shit. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Pete said, leaning his head into his hand.

 

“Beware. Gerard is in a pissy mood, especially after we told him someone poisoned him. But I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you.”

 

“Tell him not to throttle anyone.”

 

“I’ll try. See you soon.”

 

“Yeah.” He hung up, then pulled out his wallet. “Gerard woke up. I have to go.”

 

“I understand.” Pete pulled out a bunch of notes, and put them on the table, next to his unfinished meal.

 

“This should be enough. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. See you again soon.”

 

“Bye, and be careful.”

 

“I will.” Pete got up and left the restaurant, and when he got onto the street, he started running. Vaguely, he thought that he should get his car, but he was already halfway to the hospital by the time that he had that thought.

 

Before long, he reached the hospital, quickly making his way to Gerard's room. He burst in, to see Gerard and Frank chatting.

 

"Whoa Pete, it looks like you just ran a marathon," Frank pointed out, looking at Pete's flushed face.

 

"I just ran here," Pete said as he tried to catch his breath.

 

"All for me?" Gerard asked with a shit-eating grin.

 

"You've been out for a few days, man. I was worried about you," Pete said.

 

"So I've been told," Gerard replied, his expression falling into a frown. "I hope they catch the bastard who poisoned me."

 

"They opened an investigation, but they haven't found any leads," Frank said. Pete frowned.

 

"How can the guy get away with it so easily?" he asked, though he didn't expect an answer. They were silent for a minute.

 

"Hopefully they catch him," Frank mumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry. I have no excuse, just laziness. But I've plotted the rest of the story and I'm really excited about writing it, so hopefully they'll be no more several-month-long absences. If I do take too long do feel free to kick my ass (by telling me to hurry the hell up) - it actually helps, you have no idea.


	20. Chapter 20

"Ryan." He looked up to look at her through the glass.

 

"How nice to see you again, madam," he replied slightly mockingly.

 

"Be very careful now," she warned, "I can easily turn this against you."

 

"My apologies, madam."

 

"Must I remind you on how you've already failed?"

 

"I know, but I won't fail next time." He frowned. "He doesn't deserve my Brendon protecting him."

 

"Good. People with your ability are hard to come across. Your reward should be motivation enough to get the job done."

 

"Killing Brendon a second time and corrupting Patrick for my release. Trust me, I am more than ready to see the outside of these damn prisons."

 

"Good. He must be avenged." She paused. "I've changed the plan, though. Something came up. It's merely a suspicion, but I'm taking precautions."

 

"Oh? Is there anything else I must do?"

 

"You and Patrick are going to transfer prisons. After that, carry out your part."

 

"You really do have a lot of friends in high places, don't you?"

 

"You have no idea."

 

"So are you going to tell me what these suspicions are?"

 

"I'll tell you if I'm correct."

 

"Ambiguous as ever, I see."

 

"You have no right to complain." He chuckled.

 

"Indeed I don't."

 

* * *

 

 

"Patrick Stump and Ryan Ross, please report to the security gates."

 

Patrick frowned at the announcement that came through on the speaker, but got up from his bed anyway. It wasn't as if he had a choice.

 

As he made his way out of his room and down the hallway, he saw Andy running up to him.

 

"Hey," he said as he came to a stop in front of his friend, "do you have any idea why they're calling you?"

 

"None," Patrick replied, shaking his head. "It might be something to do with the fights that Ryan and I have been getting into. That's the only reason I can think that they would call us together."

 

"Those weren't fights. He was assaulting you," Andy pointed out with a frown. "Don't let him hurt you again."

 

"I don't plan to."

 

* * *

 

"You two are being transferred tomorrow."

 

"What?!" Patrick exclaimed. "Why? I haven't done anything!"

 

"You're not going to be the only ones," the guard said, "though you are the first two. You're being transferred to a prison that's just opened up. This one is overflowing." Patrick knew that. He was glad that he could have a room to himself.

 

"Sheesh, all this prison moving is tiring," Ryan complained.

 

"Not that you have any right to say anything, Ross," the guard growled, "considering you're here for murder."

 

"Point taken, though I regret it so." Ryan sighed, casting his eyes to the floor. "My love would still be here if I wasn't so reckless." Patrick narrowed his eyes.

 

Liar.

 

But he didn't voice his thoughts.

 

"Whatever. You two are excused," the guard said, waving a hand at them.

 

* * *

 

"You're being transferred?!"

 

"It's weird," Patrick said in reply to Andy's exclamation, "but it's true. I'm leaving tomorrow."

 

"I don't understand why they would transfer you if you have a good record, and that you're by yourself," Andy said with a frown.

 

"It's not like I can refute it," Patrick pointed out, sighing. "It sucks, though. I finally make a friend, and then I have to move."

 

"I'll write to you," Andy promised, "and when we both get out, we can hang out."

 

"Sounds good," Patrick agreed with a smile.

 

* * *

 

Brendon was waiting in his cell for him to get back.

 

"This whole thing stinks, you know," he said.

 

"You think I don't know that?" Patrick said, sighing.

 

"I'd go and investigate, but I can't go too far away from you." Brendon let out an exasperated sigh. "I can't do anything! I hate being dead!" He tried punching the wall, but of course his fist went straight through.

 

"You only have Ryan to thank."

 

"I know." Brendon calmed down. "I swear, the first chance I get, I'm going to get the jump on him and end him. Like he did to me." Patrick looked at him with interest. Brendon had never talked about how he was killed - when he first died, he was too angry and upset that he was dead and a ghost to talk about what had happened, and Patrick never asked. Until now, it had never come up. "I never told you how I died, did I?"

 

"No, not really," Patrick said quietly. "I only know what they told me. That you were stabbed in our apartment, and..." He stopped. He didn't want to mention that.

 

"It didn't happen exactly like that," Brendon said, looking away. "Someone rang the doorbell. I went to check who it was, but nobody was there. I heard something down the stairs, so I went to check. Then someone pushed me - I guess it was Ryan - and I blacked out. When I woke up, I was tied up on our bed." Brendon took a shaky breath. "He asked me if I would come back to him. I told him to go to hell, and that he was a whore.

 

"He got angry. I could see it on his face and feel it in my bones. He said that I hurt him, that I knew I was the only one for him. He took out some duct tape and silenced me, then climbed over me, took off my clothes, and..." He stopped. They both knew what happened. "I tried screaming, but I couldn't. I was a mess. He finished, and as he was cleaning up, you came home."

 

"He panicked, and just as he stabbed you, I found you," Patrick finished, tearing up as the memory replayed in his mind. "I felt so helpless. I kept thinking that if I had come a bit earlier, I could have saved you."

 

"He would have killed you." Brendon paused. "After I saw you and died, I don't know what happened."

 

"I ran. I ran for my life. I ran and Ryan chased me, screaming that he would finish the job. Screaming that I deserved to die. Then I heard him scream, and I whipped around saw someone hand knocked the living daylights out of him. The guy shouted at me to get the police, and I did. Ryan was arrested and convicted a few days later. Then you appeared."

 

"Yeah." They were both silent for a minute. "Don't worry, 'trick. I'll protect you from him." Brendon shot him a smile. Patrick returned it uneasily.

 

"Don't you dare kill yourself over it."

 

* * *

 

 

Patrick moved into the new prison the next morning.

 

Everything about the prison was new and empty. The walls were painted in pristine white, the floors shined, and the uniforms were crisp, but there were hardly any inmates milling around. It looked far too artificial for Patrick, considering he had just moved out of a run-down prison.

 

But what surprised him even more was that he saw Pete there.

 

_Inside._

“What on earth are you doing here?” Patrick asked as their eyes met.

 

“Visiting my girlfriend. She works here,” Pete replied. “She wanted me to see the new prison, and I thought, well, why not?”

 

“I didn’t- I didn’t think you’d come to a place like this,” Patrick murmured. He felt a light blush come to his cheeks. Properly meeting with the object of his interest – i.e. _not_ talking to him through a screen – proved to be a bit more awkward than he thought.

 

“Hey,” Pete started, “can we talk later?”

 

“Sure,” Patrick replied, slightly surprised. “I- I have to go. I need to get to my cell.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Pete said. “You better do that.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

  _Nice one Patrick. So smooth,_ he thought sarcastically to himself.

 

Patrick quickly walked past Pete and down the hallway towards his cell, but was stopped as he bumped into someone.

 

“Oh! I’m sorry!” he quickly apologised looking at who he bumped into. Judging by her uniform, she worked at the prison. He silently cursed. She was _not_ going to be happy.

 

“It’s okay,” she said kindly. “Oh, you’ve just transferred here. Um… Ryan, right?”

 

“Patrick,” he corrected, “and yes, I have.”

 

“Patrick? Patrick Stump? Aren’t you one of Pete’s friends?”

 

“Yes.” He paused. “Are you Ashlee?”

 

“Indeed I am! I’m on my way to see Pete, actually.”

 

“I already saw him.”

 

“That’s great!” She gave him a smile. “But the way, if you need help with settling in, just give me a shout, I’ll be happy to help.”

 

“Thank you.” He returned her smile. “See you later!”

 

“See you!” He continued past her, letting his smile fall into a frown.

 

_Something is off about her…_

 

He found his cell quickly, which was much the same as his last one, just cleaner.

 

“Well Stumpy, aren’t you going to pull the moves on him?” a voice said, making Patrick jump.

 

“Brendon! You need to stop doing that!” Patrick whined.

 

“Sorry, but it’s funny to see you jump,” Brendon replied with a wicked smirk. Patrick sighed, setting his change of clothes and pamphlets down.

 

“I assume you were talking about Pete,” he said.

 

“Of course!”

 

“But he has a girlfriend. Besides, he would never think of me that way.” Brendon frowned.

 

“Something is not right about Ashlee.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well… you know, being dead and being just a stuck soul without a body, I can see other souls.”

 

“…you’ve mentioned something like this before.”

 

“Yeah. Well, I can see souls and the colour of them. Yours is green – shy, but kind. You wouldn’t hurt a soul. You can also see souls, but only dead souls. You can see my colour.”

 

“Yellow mixed with blue.”

 

“Yeah, the blue is just because I’m dead. But anyway, I can see Ashlee’s soul too. It’s dark. It’s a dark colour which I can’t explain – it’s a colour I’ve seen once before with Ryan. His soul is red mixed with this colour. But with Ashlee… her soul is entirely that colour. And it’s unstable.”

 

“What does that mean?”

 

“An unstable soul sometimes consumes a person’s rational mind. That person then carries out that soul’s wishes without regard to consequences. Sometimes it’s not so bad, but with a soul like hers, it’s dangerous. You need to get her away from Pete.”

 

“So great, now seducing him is a matter of life or death?”

 

“Possibly. I don’t know what she wants, though.” Patrick hummed thoughtfully.

 

“Great…”

 

* * *

 

Some time later, there was a knock on Patrick’s cell door. He raised an eyebrow – nobody ever _knocked._ He stood up and opened up to see Pete.

 

“Hi,” Pete greeted, somewhat nervously.

 

“Hi,” Patrick greeted back, letting Pete in.

 

“Um… I don’t know how to start this, but…” Pete started, “…okay. Well, I don’t really like Ashlee that much. I started dating her because I thought it would take my mind off Mikey, and, well, this other dude I like.”

 

Patrick’s heart started speeding up.

 

“But it’s not really working. In fact, I saw him today, and well…” Pete looked at Patrick, and Patrick was surprised at how _close_ they suddenly were. In fact, if he tilted his head up and stood on his toes-

 

He was kissing him.

 

Patrick’s eyes widened as he felt Pete chastely press his lips to own, watching the uncertainty flash in his eyes.

 

Pete pulled away.

 

“I’m sorry if-“ he started, but Patrick interrupted.

 

“I like you too,” he said. “It’s just, I didn’t think you would ever like me back, after-“

 

“That doesn’t matter,” Pete said quickly, then frowned. “Well, it does matter, but I mean, well…” He paused, attempting to find the right words. “…I mean, I forgive you for for Mikey’s death.”

 

“…you do?”

 

“Yeah,” Pete smiled, “I do.” He kissed Patrick again, feeling him smile against his lips. “I’m going to break up with Ashlee,” Pete said as they broke off. “Will you wait for me?”

 

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

 

_A soul carries a person’s desires._

_A body is a vessel that can interact with the world._

_Without a soul, a body loses its meaning, and roams the earth aimlessly._

_Without a body, a soul cannot fulfil its desires._

_When a soul fulfils its desires in a body, the body deteriorates until it dies, releasing the soul. If the soul has been living with its soulmate, it will pass on to the next realm. Otherwise, it is reborn, over and over again to fulfil new desires until it finds its soulmate._

_When a soul and body unite, they become something else. Something immortal. That something else has unlimited desires, and lives to achieve these endless desires. There is only one way to sever the soul and body._

 

* * *

Brendon knew that.


	21. Chapter 21

Brendon was born into a poor family.

 

Life was simple, though they often struggled. Brendon loved his parents and his brothers and sisters. From a young age he was surrounded by other families who could hardly afford food, clothes or housing. He witnessed families being evicted and people starving to death countless times. Illness and death was rampant.

 

Despite being surrounded by death, Brendon refused to be depressed. He worked hard to bring in money so his younger brothers and sisters could go to school, so they could get jobs. He only ever wanted to see his family be happy.

 

But one day, when he was 19, he got back from work and they were dead.

 

He stood in the doorway of their small home and all he could see was blood.

 

His brothers’ and father’s throats had been slashed open, and blood had splashed all over the walls and meagre belongings. His younger sisters had been stabbed. His older sisters and his mother were tied up and nude – they had been clearly raped, and then stabbed multiple times.

 

Brendon fell to his knees, shocked at the sight in front of him. All he wanted was their happiness, and now they were dead. He clutched his chest as he felt his heart bleed, feeling something inside of him fundamentally change as tears spilt from his eyes, before pain ripped open his guts.

 

Literally.

 

He looked down and saw a knife sticking out of his gut. He clutched his stomach and fell forward, feeling the life seep from him as more tears spilled from his eyes.

 

 _I guess no matter what you do, death will always get you,_ Brendon thought bitterly. _What was I working for? Just a death in better circumstances? What's the point of gaining happiness if all you’ll do is die in the end?_

_I don’t want it to be like this._

 

He let his eyes slip closed.

 

But somehow, he woke up again.

 

It was dark, and he was no longer in any pain. The bodies of his family were still where he found them, though they were starting to stink.

 

_How long was I out?_

 

He looked at his stomach, and found that there was no wound. The skin was unmarred. The only evidence that he had been stabbed was a slit in his shirt where the knife came out, and one where the knife went in.

 

_This is impossible. I was stabbed! But I’m alive, and unhurt. What the hell is going on?_

It didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, his life was over, so he may as well be dead. Might as well finish the job.

 

However, as he went to grab a knife from their minimal kitchen, Brendon heard a voice behind him.

 

“That won’t work.”

 

He jumped, and saw a man he didn’t recognise behind him.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Your body and soul have become one,” the man said, “so you are now immortal.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Brendon replied, confused.

 

“Do you know what a soul is?”

 

“Yes – well, sort of.”

 

“A soul carries desires that it must complete with a body. However, if the soul is unable to fulfil its desires, it bonds to its body. The body becomes immortal as the soul is immortal. No matter what, you won’t die.”

 

“That can’t be true.”

 

“But the evidence is right in front of you, is it not? You were stabbed, but you’re still alive, and seemingly unharmed. Do you really think you’ll die if you stab yourself?” Brendon fell to his knees. He knew the man was right.

 

“But,” he started, his throat suddenly dry, “what do I do now? If what you say is true, then I don’t have a desire to fulfil. What do I do?”

 

“That’s not true. You’ll find another desire. And after you fulfil it, you will find another, and another.”

 

“What? So I just spend my life doing what I want?”

 

“There is only one way you can die. And it will happen, though possibly not for many years and centuries.”

 

“Tell me!”

 

“I cannot. You have to find that by yourself. But for now, you must get out of here. The police will come and think you have killed them.” Brendon knew he was right.

 

“Thank you.” He found a bag and quickly packed some clothes, food and money. He found a key his mother hid and pried open one of the floorboards, lifting out a small wooden box. He knew what was in it – precious family heirlooms that was passed down many generations, and his parents’ wedding rings.

 

He packed it, and then he ran.

 

He arrived in the next city and lived on the streets, unable to get a job. He ran out of money and started to starve.

 

And then he met Patrick.

 

Patrick was a higher class nobleman who saw him one day and took pity. He brought Brendon into his home and took care of him, and helped him find a job. Brendon couldn’t be more grateful for his help – he knew he was immortal, but he was sure he would go insane if he had to continue starving. Even as Brendon started to get up onto his own two feet, Patrick insisted that he stayed with him in his home. Brendon was grateful – somehow, he was drawn to Patrick. He wasn’t too sure how.

 

And then one day, Patrick kissed him. Brendon realised that he had to be attracted to him. They began a relationship, until Patrick died of the Black Plague three years after they first met.

 

That was the first time Brendon realised how much being immortal sucked. He realised that he would have to do this over and over again – meeting people and having them die before his eyes. So he chose not to make friends. He simple lived and worked, moving from city to city and country to country when it became too apparent that he wasn’t aging. He watched as the world evolved in front of his very eyes.

 

 _I guess this is the good part of being immortal,_ he once thought to himself, _you get to see and experience history. And, well, I don’t get sick. I don’t have to die._

Except he waited for death.

 

However, one day about two hundred years after meeting Patrick, he saw him again.

 

He was a boy, no more than 12 years old, but suddenly Brendon realised that reincarnation was real.

 

He was drawn to the boy, as he was drawn to Patrick so many years ago. He learned that the boy had run away from his abusive parents – Brendon saw the bruises around his neck to prove that. He was scared out of his mind, so Brendon did what Patrick did with him so long ago – took him in. Brendon whisked him away to another city and raised him, despite the fact that he was attracted to him like he was attracted to Patrick a long time ago. He struggled with it until Patrick kissed him one day when he was 20.

 

“You saved me, and besides, you don’t even look that old,” he said when he pulled away, “I think you were around my age when you saved me. And… I kind of feel that I _have_ to be with you.”

 

Brendon knew what he meant. That attraction (along with the memory of 200 years ago) was what pushed him to rescue him eight years ago.

 

They were together for many years, until Brendon realised that Patrick was beginning to look older than him.

 

“How do you manage to stay so young-looking?” he asked with a laugh, the lines around his mouth crinkling.

 

Brendon laughed with him, though a year later, he ran away, offering no explanation.

 

Throughout the centuries, Brendon had no idea what his purpose was – he suspected it was something to do with Patrick, as he met him two lives and both times he just _knew_ he had to be with him. For what purpose, he wasn’t too sure.

 

Then he met Pete.

 

When they met in a bar during the Renaissance era, Brendon immediately felt the same attraction to him as he did to Patrick. However, he refused to have a relationship with Pete like he had with Patrick – and he was okay with that.

 

He met Patrick for the third time a hundred years later, however, he was stabbed to death when they were walking out in the middle of the night.

 

He met Pete again soon after, and he realised something.

 

 _I was never attracted_ romantically _to Patrick. I have to help him. I think… I have to get him to meet his soulmate._

He was sure Pete was his soulmate.

 

But he was never lucky enough to meet Pete and Patrick together in the same life.

 

Whenever he met Patrick, Patrick always initiated a romantic relationship. Brendon didn’t mind, as he was sure that Patrick felt the same attraction as he did. He always felt that he was wrong for being with Patrick the way he often was, but ultimately, he was lonely. Patrick had been a major constant throughout his whole life. The world may change, but Patrick did not. It was comforting.

 

Tracking Pete and Patrick was easy in the 21st century. He moved to New York specifically so that he could meet Patrick somehow. But a wrench was thrown into his plans to _finally_ get Pete and Patrick together when he met Ryan.

 

With Ryan, he managed to forget everything about his past. He forgot about his fruitless quest to fulfil his purpose, his relationships with the reincarnates of Patrick, even about the fading memory of his dead family and about his immortality – he forgot it all. With Ryan, Brendon could just be Brendon. Not some lost immortal soul who, for a thousand years, hasn’t been able to fulfil his purpose. Brendon fell hopelessly in love with Ryan.

 

But occasionally, Brendon saw a familiar mad glint in his eyes. Ryan _always_ wanted to be together – he didn’t like the idea of Brendon having other friends. Brendon knew Ryan was overprotective and jealous, but it didn’t stop him from loving him.

 

However, one day, Ryan hit him.

 

Brendon had found Patrick again and they were good friends. This incarnate of Patrick loved music, so they often worked on songs together and played together. Brendon could see that Patrick was attracted to him, but this time, he was determined to stay with Ryan.

 

When Ryan hit him, however, it was the first time in ages that Brendon had been _scared._ He felt the hit resonate through his whole being. He felt vulnerable, as he did all those hundreds of years ago when he saw his dead family and knew someone had targeted them – for what reason, Brendon was sure he would never know. But as Brendon looked at Ryan, with that mad glint in his eyes with tears in the corners, all he could feel was love.

 

He hated himself for it.

 

He knew Ryan had a fucked up childhood. He knew he was insecure. And he knew that something was very, _very_ wrong with him. But he couldn't stop himself from loving him.

 

Which was why he found himself being okay with every time Ryan took out his frustrations on his body – or, at least, that was what Brendon decided to believe. Sometimes, when he saw the look in his eyes as he hit him, he thought that sometimes Ryan hit him just because he could, despite the thought being preposterous to his love-sick heart.

 

Eventually, Patrick saw what was happening him and whisked him to Chicago, away from Ryan. Brendon was _pissed_ at first, but he realised that there was no good in him loving Ryan. It was hindering him from his goal, and eventually he would have to leave him when it became apparent he wasn’t ageing.

 

Brendon found that Pete was also in Chicago, but before he could do anything, he was killed.

 

When he realised he was dead, he could hardly believe it. How was he dead? He thought he was immortal! If he could die from a stab, he would have died ages ago!

 

But when he was dead, he realised that his soul – now severed from his body – just remained in the same plane of existence. It was odd – he knew reincarnation was real. He had witnessed it over and over again.

 

He also saw new things when he was dead – the colour of souls, other dead souls, and red string that often connected two people. He learnt that souls remain in this plane of existence if they die after meeting their soulmate but not fulfilling their desires. After that piece of information, Brendon was hit with an epiphany.

 

_Of course._

Ryan was his soulmate.

 

He also remembered the man who was around after he first discovered he was immortal, who told him there was one way he could die.

 

The pieces fell into place, and he realised that an immortal being can die by being killed by their soulmate. It was too ironic – the one you loved the most was the only one who could set you free.

 

The second thing he learnt was that the red string connected soulmates. That much was proven when he saw it connecting his disembodied soul and Ryan, and again when he saw it connecting Pete and Patrick at Patrick’s trial.

 

 _About time,_ he thought to himself. He was ready to leave this world. He was ready to see this love story, which had been in the making for hundreds of years, unravel before him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BWAHAHAHA, I bet NO ONE saw that coming. (Even I didn't see that coming. I literally only came up with this at the end of the last chapter.)
> 
> Anyways, shit is about to hit the fan next chapter, so prepare your umbrellas folks.
> 
> (Also, I did a bit of math, and I figured out that Brendon was born around 1328. Bloody hell. That means that as of when this story is taking place, he around 687 years old.)
> 
> Comments give me life, and please leave a kudos if you haven't already.


	22. Chapter 22

Pete found it odd that Ashlee wanted to meet in the prison, but he decided that it would be pretty cool to see the inside of the prison – to see how Patrick lived.

_Why do I keep thinking about him so much?_

He admitted to himself that he was attempting to quell his attraction to Patrick by dating Ashlee, but it didn’t make it any better. He often thought him, and often had the urge to visit him, even if it was just to see or talk to him. The last couple of times he visited him, he didn’t even talk to Mikey – he felt bad, but he knew it was for the best. Mikey had said what he needed to say to him, and it was easier to get over someone who had died if you didn’t keep _talking to them._ He suspected Mikey knew this too.

But when he arrived at the prison, and being waved inside by the receptionist, he didn’t expect to see Patrick arriving there as well.

 _He just transferred here?_ he thought, shaking his head. _What a coincidence._

It didn’t help that his stupid crush decided to rear its ugly head _(ugly head? Well done, Pete. That analogy is_ perfect _,)_ as soon as he saw him.

“What on earth are you doing here?” Patrick asked as their eyes met.

“Visiting my girlfriend. She works here,” Pete replied. He winced internally at how his words came out robotically. “She wanted me to see the new prison, and I thought, well, why not?” he quickly added.

“I didn’t- I didn’t think you’d come to a place like this,” Patrick murmured quietly, though Pete managed to catch it.

 _Yeah, me neither,_ he thought to himself. He considered saying it, but was stopped as he saw Patrick blushing lightly. _That’s cute. This_ is _awkward, but I didn’t think he’d blush at it._ They were silent for a few moments, before Pete heard footsteps approaching in the distance. _That’s probably Ashlee._

“Hey, can we talk later?” he asked, surprising himself. _Why the hell did I say that? I don’t know what we’ll talk about._

“Sure,” Patrick replied, slightly surprised. Pete didn’t blame him, since he had surprised himself as well. “I- I have to go. I need to get to my cell.”

“Oh yeah,” Pete said. _Right. I forgot he just transferred here._ “You better do that.” _Smooth, real smooth._

“Yeah.” Patrick quickly walked past Pete, his blush intensifying, and Pete watched him idly.

 _That was awkward as hell, but now I gotta figure out what to talk to him about._ He continued to watch him as he bumped into Ashlee. They exchanged a few words, and then they were walking off again. Ashlee gave him a huge smile.

“Patrick is a really sweet guy,” she said in lieu of a greeting, “I can see why you like him so much.”

Pete flinched, and then cursed himself. It wasn’t her fault that she inadvertently cut a little too close to the truth.

“Yeah. I really hated him at first, considering everything, but he’s a great guy, honestly. He’s really sorry for what he’s done,” Pete replied.

“Right.” There was a flash of _something_ in her eyes, but it was gone before Pete could place it. “Well, shall we go?”

Pete found that living in a prison was almost like living in a boarding school, except it seemed much more boring. He thought that it was fitting for a criminal, but couldn’t help but feel sympathetic towards Patrick.

 _How does he live here?_ he thought. _He seems so nonchalant about this place, but I don’t see how he’s really okay with it._

Ashlee was starting to get on his nerves, though. He wasn’t sure why. He found that he just wanted to get the ‘grand tour’ over and done with. He wasn’t too sure why Ashlee was so keen on him coming here in the first place.

_Then again, I was really curious to see what it was like._

And he wanted to see Patrick.

_I think I’ll just say ‘fuck it’ and see where this takes me. Besides, it’s not like dating Ashlee is helping._

Ashlee was about to escort him out – it wasn’t as if he was meant to be inside anyways – when he stopped her.

“I want to go talk to Patrick quickly,” he said.

“Oh, okay,” she replied, giving him a smile. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.” He walked off and down the hallway, watching the blank nameplates he walked by until he found one with Patrick’s name on, in all its polished glory. He took a deep breath, and knocked.

Patrick opened the door, a look of surprise on his face.

“Hi,” Pete greeted nervously.

“Hi,” Patrick greeted back, moving aside so Pete could walk inside. He noted that the cell actually didn’t look that bad.

“Um… I don’t know how to start this, but…” Pete started, fumbling in order to find the words to voice his thoughts, “…okay. Well, I don’t really like Ashlee that much. I started dating her because I thought it would take my mind off Mikey, and, well, this other dude I like.” Patrick didn’t betray much emotion. He simply wed for Pete to finish what he was saying. “But it’s not really working. In fact, I saw him today, and well…” Pete stopped himself, finally realising how close they were. He realised that he must have been moving closer to him unconsciously.

_Oh, so is this what I’m supposed to do?_

Pete knew his actions could always voice his thoughts much clearer than his words ever could anyway.

So he kissed him.

Pete knew he was nervous, and that he showed. He kept his eyes open, seeing the surprise and slight panic appearing in his eyes.

_Well shit._

He quickly pulled back. He knew he fucked up.

“I’m sorry if-“ he started, but Patrick interrupted.

“I like you too,” he said, surprising Pete.

_Fucking score Pete! So you didn’t fuck up._

“It’s just, I didn’t think you would ever like me back, after-“ Patrick started again, and Pete knew what he was talking about immediately. He didn’t want to hear it.

“That doesn’t matter,” Pete said quickly, but frowned at what he said. “Well, it does matter, but I mean, well…” He paused, trying to figure out what he was feeling. _What do I mean?_ “…I mean, I forgive you for Mikey’s death.”

“…you do?” Patrick seemed surprised. Pete didn’t blame him.

“Yeah,” Pete smiled, “I do.” He kissed Patrick again, feeling him smile against his lips. He pulled away, knowing what he had to do. “I’m going to break up with Ashlee. Will you wait for me?”

“Of course.” Patrick beamed at him, and Pete felt his heart swell. He had no idea how happy he would, being with Patrick. And they were only just getting started.

“I better go, Ashlee is waiting for me,” Pete said, grimacing. He really was regretting dating her.

“Okay,” Patrick replied, his expression falling.

“Don’t worry, I’ll come visit you again before you know it,” Pete said with a grin. “And you’re eligible for parole soon, right? I think you should aim for it.”

“Maybe,” Patrick murmured. Pete shot him a warm smile, and ruffled Patrick’s hair.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised.

* * *

 

“Did you have a good talk?” Ashlee asked as Pete approached her, noticing that he was in a good mood.

“Yeah,” Pete replied, “we cleared some stuff up, so all’s good.”

“That’s great.” Ashlee smiled. “I was thinking, why don’t we have dinner at my apartment tonight? I can cook.”

 _That would be the perfect opportunity to break up with her,_ he thought. _After all, I still gotta figure out what to say._

“Sounds perfect,” Pete replied, giving her a smile (although it was slightly forced.)

“Great, I’ll see you tonight! I have to go back to my shift, so see you later.”

“Yeah, see ya.” Pete smiled to himself as he watched Ashlee walking away.

 _Things are coming right_.

* * *

 

Pete was prepared. He knew exactly what he was going to say, exactly what he was going to do. He wasn’t going to mention Patrick at all – he thought it would make him seem like an asshole. That would be the first thing he had established with himself. Otherwise, he was going to be truthful.

 _I’ve been ready to end this since it began,_ he thought to himself, as he rang Ashlee’s doorbell. He heard some swearing, and then she answered. She was wearing an apron over some casual clothes and a pair of oven mitts.

“Come in, come in! Sorry, I’m still cooking,” she said quickly, allowing Pete inside. “Make yourself at home!” She closes the door behind them and quickly dashed off into the kitchen. He followed her, smelling the food.

“Smells great,” Pete commented, smelling the mouth-watering aroma of herbs, spices and meat. “What are you cooking?”

“Just a simple roast, with some potatoes,” Ashlee replied. “Go settle in the living room. I put some wine there – I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Alright,” Pete replied, and left her bustling. He spotted the bottle of wine on the table, and poured himself a glass. He drank some, then went to sit down. But when he was about to sit down, he saw a newspaper sticking out from under the TV set.

 _Odd._ He took another sip and put the glass down, then bent down to retrieve the newspaper. He flinched when he saw the headline.

_My Chemical Romance star dies in car crash._

_Why does she have such an old newspaper lying around?_ He thought to himself, shaking his head. _I’ll do her a favour and put it in the bin._

He didn’t see a bin around the small living room, however, but he saw that Ashlee’s bedroom door was open. He remembered there was a bin – the result of his desperate search for a used condom. There wasn’t one, but he supposed that it was either flung to some dark corner his hungover self couldn’t find in, or Ashlee at least insisted on pulling out. He hoped.

He crept into the bedroom, found the bin and dumped the newspaper, but as he was about to turn around, he saw that one of the cupboards were open slightly.

 _I’ll close that for her._ He went over and tried to push the doors shut, but found that something was blocking them from closing properly. He opened the doors, then gasped as he saw what was inside.

There were pictures of Mikey posted all over walls, as well as newspaper articles that had anything to do with him. There was a pile of My Chemical Romance merchandise on the floor, as well as a pile of newspaper articles regarding Mikey’s death, and an open box of condoms.

“What the hell…?!” Pete exclaimed, then put his hand over his mouth. He was too loud. He needed to get out of there, and he needed to get out of there _now._

“What do you think you’re doing?” Pete heard, and he span around to see Ashlee behind him. She looked _completely_ different – she looked angry, and was shooting him a glare which also had a spark of insanity behind them. Her stance made her look like she was about to attack him, with her legs spread apart, knees slightly bent and hands curling into half-fists by her sides.

“I, uh-“ Pete started, but was cut off.

“Well, now that you’ve seen it, I may as well tell you the truth,” she said. “Mikey never loved you. He never even _liked_ you. He was only dating you because you’re the director of the record label his band was signed to, so dating you would have its benefits.”

“You’re lying,” Pete whispered, tears coming to his eyes. All of the grief suddenly welled up, and it was paired with a slight sense betrayal. There was no way

“He was dating me the whole time, and he told me _everything_.”

“Then why were you dating me? Just for a kick?! Why did you let me have _sex_ with you?”

“Do you honestly believe I would let you have sex with me?” Pete gaped at her. “I made you believe we did so I could guilt trip you into dating me.”

“I’m leaving,” he spat, shoving past her to leave the bedroom.

“I don’t think so.” He heard the rustling of a drawer behind him, and then pain ripped through his chest. He looked down and saw a knife sticking out of the middle of his chest.

 _What? Why?_ He meant to voice these questions, but instead, he coughed up blood. He collapsed, blacking out to the tune of maniacal laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE DON'T FREAK OUT you'll see in a couple of chapters, he'll be fineeeeeeee(ish)


	23. Chapter 23

It had been a week since Patrick last saw Pete, and he knew something was wrong. Pete promised him that he’d be back soon, and he was pretty sure that a week wasn’t soon. What was more concerning that Ashlee had been gone since that day as well. What if she went crazy and attacked Pete? Brendon had told him that there was something very wrong with her, and Patrick believed him. Ashlee gave him an uneasy feeling.

For the first time since arriving, Patrick really cursed being sent to prison. He had no access to the news outside, so he couldn’t find out if Pete had indeed been stabbed. He could barely contain his worry.

Ashlee finally returned after that one week of worrying – and Patrick knew something was wrong immediately. He had recognised Ashlee a moment after seeing her, but she looked different. She still wore the prison guard uniform, but she was wearing a long red wig and wearing a nametag that did not have her own name on.

Patrick immediately confronted her.

“Where’s Pete?” he demanded.

“Patrick,” she began, her voice soft. Patrick faltered, the anger that had been rising up in him suddenly vanishing. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to tell you, but… Pete tried to commit suicide.” He froze, shocked at her words. He suddenly remembered the last time he saw Pete, how happy he looked even as they parted, and he realised she was lying.

_She has to be lying, right? It doesn’t make sense…_

“H-how?” he asked, his voice wobbling. He wasn’t sure what to do. His instincts told him not to call her out on her lie, as much as he wanted to, but if he couldn’t drag the truth out from her what could he do?

“He was struggling a lot with moving on,” Ashlee replied. Patrick didn’t need to be told what she meant. “I tried to help him, but Mikey was the love of his life. He could barely go to work anymore, and he was losing friends. I guess… it all got too much.”

“I understand,” Patrick murmured, though he frowned. “Why do you have a wig on, though? And I’m pretty sure Barbara Mason isn’t your name.”

“I’ve made an enemy here, I’m afraid,” Ashlee replied smoothly, “so the manager gave me permission to disguise myself when I got back here. I’ve been with Pete in the hospital, and it looks as if he’s going to make a full recovery. I don’t know if he’s going to be really okay, though.”

“Okay,” Patrick replied, frowning slightly.

“I’m sorry Patrick, I know you’re good friends with Pete,” Ashlee said. “I hope we can help him through this.” She gave him a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I have to get back to my duties, but I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” Patrick mumbled. He walked off, unsure of what to do. Pete seemed to have moved on from Mikey’s death to him, so it didn’t make sense that he would still be so affected by it.

Unless he was mistaken.

Patrick shook his head, then turned around to head back to his cell. He needed to talk to Brendon – he couldn’t deal with this by himself.

However, when he returned to his cell, Brendon wouldn’t appear. Patrick frowned, the feeling of apprehension creeping up his spine. Something wasn’t right.

He broke out into a run, sprinting out of his cell and down the hallway and ignoring the shouts of the guards he shot past. Only one thought went through his head.

_Ryan._

He remembered how Brendon said that he would kill Ryan, but he wasn’t sure if he was actually serious. Patrick remembered how Brendon was so in love with Ryan, before Patrick’s own love whisked Brendon to a city that they’d never been to before. Away from Ryan, where they’d lived blissfully for a year before Ryan succeeded in tracking them down and destroying that.

Ryan had taken Brendon away from him once. He wouldn’t allow him to destroy Brendon forever.

He burst into many rooms, most of which were still somewhat empty and reminded him of a too-clean hospital, but he was still unable to locate Brendon.

 _Shit, shit_ shit – _where the hell is he?_

Finally, he found Brendon in the library, which was off limits, but as he suspected, he was fighting Ryan. He was noticed immediately, as both Brendon and Ryan turned to look at him as soon as he entered.

“How nice of you to join us, Patrick,” Ryan spat, but the light smile that was on his face evolved into a maniacal grin. “How convenient, actually-“

“Get out of here!” Brendon shouted, then yelped as he had to duck out of the way punch Ryan threw at him.

“Brendon, stop it!” Patrick yelled.

“Sorry, but that isn’t going to happen,” Ryan said gleefully. “The only way he’s going to win is if he kills me.”

“Please, Patrick, I don’t want you to get hurt!” Brendon pleaded, shooting him a worried look. Patrick looked between Brendon and Ryan, as Brendon continued to dodge Ryan’s attacks. Patrick balled his hands up into fists, then ran at Ryan. Brendon shouted at him to get away, but Patrick continued running, and punched Ryan with all his strength. Ryan stumbled back, holding his hurt side and glaring at Patrick, before Brendon threw a kick at his head. Ryan ducked, then launched himself at Patrick and grabbing his throat. Brendon froze in his spot as Ryan pulled out a knife.

“I don’t think I like this game anymore,” Ryan said, his smile falling. “Two against one is hardly fair now, is it?”

“It wasn’t fair when you knocked me out, tied me up and raped me,” Brendon spat.

“Oh please my dear Brenny-Boo, we both know you enjoyed it,” Ryan replied, smiling yet again. “After all, we are _soulmates._ ” Brendon let a frustrated noise out of his throat, then ran at Ryan, his fists up and glowing with his spirit energy. Ryan looked at him with a bored look in his eyes, then swiped his knife at Brendon. Brendon stumbled back, and although there was no visible wound, his whole being paled.

“I’d be careful, after all, you can’t use too much energy trying to pretend you’re still alive,” Ryan laughed, pointing his knife at Brendon. “You’ll just end up killing yourself in the end.” He dropped Patrick, who sunk to his knees and started to wheeze, desperately taking in oxygen. “Not that it would be a problem for me, since that’s _exactly what I want!_ ” Ryan ran at Brendon again, attempting to sink his knife into him again, but found that Brendon had become like air yet again. Like a proper ghost.

“Giving up already?” Ryan mocked, then frowned. “Fine. Then simply stay like that, like the good ghost you are, and simply _watch and not meddle_ as I destroy your precious Patrick.” Ryan dropped his knife, and walked over to where Patrick still knelt, watching. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand why you choose him over me, anyway. After all… we are soulmates.”

“Then why are you trying to kill him?” Patrick said softly, looking at Ryan. Ryan looked at Patrick with surprise. “If you’re soulmates, aren’t you supposed to always be in love? And if you’re in love… you would never want to be without the one you’re in love with.” Patrick watched Ryan’s eyes as they became filled with shock and sadness. “I don’t understand! I don’t understand why you want to kill him! _For the second time!_ ”

“Shut up!” Ryan shouted. “Brendon was supposed to be dead, and he was supposed to stay dead! I didn’t want this cursed ability to be able to see him all over again! I didn’t even want to be alive after I killed him!”

“What?” Brendon said softly.

“I was going to kill myself after I killed him…” Ryan continued, “…but you came along, and ran away and called the police and ruined everything! I hate you!” Ryan grabbed Patrick’s throat and threw him down, but he didn’t squeeze. “You took everything away from me! You took away Brendon, the one I loved the most, _my soulmate,_ and then took away the chance for me to die! I was going to just kill myself and Brendon, and then we could live together in the next realm, but you ruined that!” Ryan started to shake with rage. “I don’t even want to destroy Brendon’s soul! I’m just trying to force him into the next realm!”

“You can do that?” Patrick asked, incredulous.

“I don’t know, but it was worth trying,” Ryan admitted. “And after I did that, and dealt with you, Ashlee would get me out of here! And…” Ryan sighed, his anger and energy draining. He let go of Patrick, then sat back. “…I’d finally be able to die peacefully.”

No one said anything for a while. Patrick attempted to process what he just did, as did Brendon. Finally, Brendon walked over to where Patrick and Ryan sat, and knelt down beside them.

“I can’t let you do this,” Brendon said quietly. “I can’t let you… violate Patrick. But, even after all of this…” He took a deep breath, then let it out in a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the situation. “I still love you. I hate it, I hate that I still love you, but I can’t stop it.” Ryan looked away, then stood up and went to grab the knife that he dropped.

“Then let’s just stop this,” he said, kneeling down and carefully picking up the knife. He ran his finger over the metal of the blade.

“Hold on a second, you mentioned Ashlee,” Patrick pointed out. “What has she got to do with any of this?”

“I have an agreement with her,” Ryan replied. “She knew I hated you, and that I wanted to get revenge against you, so she told me to make you suffer. In return, she would use her connections to get me out of prison. Of course, when I told her about seeing spirits, about everything I knew about the spiritual realm, and about Brendon, she told me to destroy him too.”

“But why?” Patrick whispered. “Why would she do that?”

“Because she hates you for your involvement in Mikey’s death.” Patrick inhaled sharply. “Personally, I believe that what happened was an accident, and I know you’re sorry for what you did, but she doesn’t believe that. She was in love with Mikey, and she’s as twisted as I am, so she decided to make you suffer.”

“Pete,” Patrick murmured. He knew that Ashlee had to have done something to Pete, but why?

“I still hate you,” Ryan said angrily, then stood up and turned to face him, “but I’m giving you a chance to fix all of this.” He walked over to Patrick and offered his knife to him. Patrick looked at him incredulously. “Kill me.”

“I can’t do that!” Patrick exclaimed, then scrambled to his feet. “I get what you’re trying to do, but why don’t you just kill yourself as you keep saying you’ll do?” Ryan looked down.

“You’re too scared to kill yourself?” Brendon asked. Ryan didn’t reply. “I get it. As much as some people want to die, they’re still scared of dying. But it’s okay.” Brendon stood up, took the knife out of Ryan’s hand and threw it to the floor. “I’m right here. And I’ll help you.” He grabbed Ryan’s hand. Ryan looked at him, confused. “Not that I’m supposed to, but I don’t think that will matter in the end.”

“What are you going to do?” Ryan asked.

“Yeah, I’m wondering that as well,” Patrick said. Brendon chuckled, putting a finger over his lips.

“I can’t say, but let’s just say I’m getting a bit of revenge,” Brendon replied. “And you’ll find out soon enough, Ryan. But, Patrick…” The smile fell from his lips, and he looked at Patrick sadly. “This is farewell. I’ve done what I needed to do, and now you better protect Pete.”

“What did you do?” Patrick asked.

“I got you and Pete together. And now, it better stay that way.”

“Ashlee is still after you, so… be careful,” Ryan added reluctantly.

“Oh, right, I almost forgot about that,” Brendon said.

“I will be, don’t worry,” Patrick reassured. “I was kinda hoping this day would never come, but I knew it had to eventually. I’ll miss you, Brendon.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Brendon replied.

“And for what it’s worth Ryan, I forgive you. I hate what you did, but I understand it. At least you two have a happy ending. Just… answer me this; why did you beat up Brendon?” Ryan sighed.

“I’m mentally unstable,” he replied honestly, “I’ve known it for a long time. I just had these occasions where I could barely control myself. And it’s just gotten worse over the past couple of years.”

“Oh…” Patrick murmured.

“It’ll be okay, ‘trick,” Brendon said, beaming. “You and Pete will have a happy ending as well!”

“I hope so,” Patrick said, then grimaced. “I still have to deal with Ashlee. But I think I know now… she had to be lying.”

“About what?” Brendon asked.

“She said that Pete attempted suicide a week ago,” Patrick said. Brendon looked surprised at first, then shook his head.

“She’s lying, I know it. She’s insane, and her soul is filled with darkness. I’m sure she said that just to upset you.”

“But Pete hasn’t been here since a week ago! And he promised that he’d break up with Ashlee and come back to me.”

“I remember that.” Brendon frowned. “Be careful. I don’t know what she’s done, but I don’t think it’s anything good.”

“Yeah.” Patrick sighed. “Well, goodbye. Have a good life… uh, afterlife.”

“We will!” Brendon laughed, then pulled Patrick into a hug. Out of the corner of his eye, Patrick saw Ryan looking away. “You better go get that bitch, and give her a piece of your mind, from you and me.”

“I will,” Patrick said, pulling away. “Take care of Brendon, or I swear I’ll reach into the next realm and beat you up, got it?”

“I don’t know how you’d do that, but don’t worry. I don’t ever want to hurt him again,” Ryan said, looking at Patrick with sincerity in his eyes. “And tell her the deal’s off from me, okay?”

“No problem. Farewell.”

“I’m sure we’ll see each other again when you die,” Brendon pointed out. Patrick nodded, then before the tears in his eyes could spill out, he ran out.

 _I have to find her,_ he thought, but then he fell over. He swore, but then realised that he had been pushed.

He tried to get up again, but he was pushed back down. He looked up to see Ashlee over him. At that moment, she shoved a cloth over his mouth.

“Sweet dreams,” she spat, forcing Patrick to breath in the chemicals that soaked the cloth. Patrick was knocked out in an instant, and at that moment, the lights all shut off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I return, yet again! 
> 
> As I keep saying I will finish this I swear.
> 
> We're getting there people.
> 
> P.S for the epilogue would you be interested in some smut?? Like I have written it before but I'm not good so eh.


	24. Chapter 24

_Patrick had been able to see ghosts for as long as he could remember. However, Patrick had vaguely wondered if that had anything to do with what happened when he was two years old and nearly drowned._

_He didn’t remember anything, but his parents told him that when they went ice skating on a frozen lake, it broke and Patrick fell in. Patrick sank, and it was a while before he was pulled out of the water. When they did, he was already dead. Fortunately, they managed to revive him._

_Patrick had wondered if near-death experiences was the reason that people were able to see the dead in the first place. After all, he would have been dead if he hadn’t gotten lucky and hadn’t been revived._

_He wondered why he was given a second chance at life. He hadn’t done anything special with his life; he was a small-time musician who struggled to pay his rent, and on top of that he had killed someone. Not murder – he would never be able to murder somebody – but manslaughter. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to forgive himself for that, even if he only caused Mikey’s death inadvertently, even if everyone around him forgave him._

_But he couldn’t worry about that now._

* * *

Pete was absolutely sick of being in hospital.

Granted, he was still shocked that actually managed to survive Ashlee stabbing him – by all means he should be dead. In fact, he _did_ die – as soon as he arrived in the ER his heart stopped beating, but they managed to revive him. And he also got extremely lucky – the stab didn’t hit anything vital, and there was a concerned neighbour smart enough to call the cops when she heard all of the shouting.

He should be dead and buried by now, but he was alive – and he would be kicking too, if there wasn’t a risk his stitches would tear out if he did. It was a miracle, and he was more than grateful to be alive.

Of course, that didn’t stop him from being bored as hell.

He knew Ashlee was currently in jail and about to go on trial for his attempted murder, and he would have to testify when he was released from hospital. He was more than happy that she’d been caught, and he hoped that she would get a long sentence.

Gerard was released from hospital a couple of days after he was stabbed, and came to visit him with Frank. He joked how the hospital was probably getting sick of taking care of him and anybody around him, and Pete merely shook his head and then asked Frank how he was going to get himself into hospital, to which Frank replied that they were going to be the death of him so he wouldn’t have to do anything.

When Pete finally had time to himself to try and process what had happened, and what Ashlee told him, he of course got a shock that was so big he was surprised he didn’t go into cardiac arrest (again.)

Mikey was there.

Pete stared at his pale blue form, trying to figure out if it was really him. But when he blinked, he was gone.

He shook his head – perhaps he’d somehow got a concussion as well as a stab to the chest.

He then thought about what Ashlee did say, and thought that it didn’t make sense that she tried to kill him. Why would she do that? And after telling him that Mikey had been cheating on him the whole time they were together?

He shook his head. Ashlee had to be insane.

A week after he was admitted into hospital, he saw Mikey again, but when Pete stared at him, he didn’t disappear.

“So you see me?” Mikey asked him as soon as he realised that Pete was looking straight at him. Pete nodded mutely, not trusting his voice at that moment. “Oh, so I guess what they said was true.”

“What?” Pete said quietly, his voice wobbling with the emotion that welled up in his chest.

“Other ghosts,” Mikey replied. “They said that if you die but then brought back to life, you then get the ability to see them.”

“Oh,” Pete replied.

“I saw what happened between you and Ashlee, and I need to tell you she was lying.”

“I kinda guessed, but…”

“You had doubts? I get that.” Pete breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m just glad she’s in jail now.”

“Yeah. Patrick is alright, by the way – he seems a bit worried, but he’s okay.”

“I don’t blame him. I did say I would be back soon. Who knew this would happen, though.”

“I knew she was insane, and obsessed with me, but… I didn’t think she would do this.”

“Did you even know her? When you were alive, I mean.”

“I met her one day, and I found myself really attracted to her, so I invited her back to my place. After that, I tried to talk to her again but she never returned my texts or calls, so I left her alone. I kept wondering how she was doing, though.”

“Oh… hey, can you do me a favour? Please tell Patrick I’m okay.”

“I would, if I could.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been stuck to you since Ashlee attacked you, for whatever reason, and I can’t go too far.”

“Shit.” Pete sat up in bed. “I gotta go see him.”

“You can’t, you know that.” Pete grimaced, remembering that he still had to remain in hospital for at least another few days.

“Yeah, but…”

“Pete Wentz?” Pete immediately looked to see who said his name, and saw a couple of police officers in front of his bed.

“Uh, yeah?” Pete replied.

“Ashlee has escaped from jail,” one of them said, “and we suspect that she might be after you. Therefore, we’re putting you under our protection.”

“Damn,” Pete muttered.

“It shouldn’t be long before we catch her,” the other one said. They then stood with their backs turned to Pete, watching out for any possible intruders.

“Somehow, I doubt she’s after you,” Mikey said, earning a confused look from Pete. “Sure, she didn’t succeed in killing you, but she’s smart enough to know that you’ll be unreachable now.” Pete nodded. He agreed with him – Pete had known her long enough to know she had a sharp wit, good observation skills and a knack for being able to make connections – with both people and clues. She said to him at one time that she hated crime stories unless they were really good, because she can normally guess who the killer is by the time she’s halfway done.

Pete thought it was suspicious, but Ashlee seemed like a good person at the time. He had no idea that she would have an obsession with Mikey, and that she wanted to kill him.

Pete was about to say something, then remembered that the cops were less than a meter away from him.

_Somehow, I don’t think it would look good if I started talking to someone who’s not there._

He looked around for a piece of paper to write on, then remembered that he had his phone. He grabbed it, unlocked it and then opened the notes app, then began to type.

 **What do you think she’s going to do, then?** He showed the message to Mikey.

“Probably escape this city,” Mikey replied, then frowned. “Or… I’m not sure. I have the feeling there’s something she still wants to do here. Something important.”

Pete wasn’t too sure what to say to that, but before he could try to formulate a response, he got a text message.

 **I know the cops are with you, so don’t you dare react.** It was from Ashlee. Pete looked at Mikey worriedly. Mikey walked over to stand next to him and looked at his phone.

“Shit,” he simply said.

**I have Patrick, and trust me, things aren’t going to end well unless you come here.**

“This must have something to do with what she wants to do,” Mikey said, making Pete wonder how he knew so much about Ashlee.

 **What do you want with me?** Pete wrote back.

**If you don’t come, your dear boyfriend is going to meet a messy end. And don’t you dare involve the cops.**

**What am I going to do?** Pete wrote back on notes.

“You have to go,” Mikey whispered. “It’s bound to be a trap, but I don’t think she’s bluffing.

 **How am I going to get out of here?** Pete looked at the cops, then traced the line where he got stitches in his chest, feeling the ridges of the alien string through his paper-thin gown. He knew there were matching stitches on his back.

“Take the needle out,” Mikey said, pointing to the crook of his elbow where there was a large needle feeding him fluids, “while I distract those guards.”

**How are you going to do that?**

“I’ve found that we can still interact with the real world – but we’re not supposed to. And if we do it for too long, then we use too much energy and our souls disintegrate.”

“You can’t do that!” Pete blurted out, then realised his mistake when the cops turned around to look at him oddly. “Uh, sorry, it’s- it’s a game.” He held his phone up.

“Okay then,” one of them said, then they turned back around.

“Don’t worry Pete, I won’t do it for long,” Mikey reassured him. He then walked away, and out of Pete’s sight. He wondered what the ghost would do, but focussed on gradually removing the IV. He winced as the piece of metal moved uncomfortably under his skin, but was relieved when he finally managed to pull it out. He then pulled the heart rate monitor off of his finger, then realised his mistake when the machine made a loud whining sound.

“Shit,” his murmured when the cops turned around in panic, but didn’t have much time as smoke exploded seemingly out of nowhere. The room filled with smoke quickly, and Pete could barely see anything.

“Is he okay?” he heard one of the officers shout.

“I don’t know! I can’t see anything!” the other one replied. Pete felt a hand on his wrist, and he turned to make out Mikey through the smoke.

“Come on!” Mikey shouted, and dragged Pete out of the hospital bed. He stumbled to his feet, then allowed Mikey to keep dragging him.

The hand holding him felt so cold.

Mikey dragged him out into the hallway and through the nurses and doctors who were rushing into the ward, and then into a storage cupboard.

“Stay here,” Mikey instructed, then went back out. He returned a minute later with some clothes.

“Put these on, then we better go. The prison isn’t very far,” Mikey said, then smiled. “I’m going to be right here the whole time, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” Pete said, returning his smile. Mikey stepped through the closed door, making Pete flinch for a second before quickly changing out of his hospital gown and into the clothes that Mikey gave him.

 _Hang on Patrick, I’m coming._ He stepped out, and started to run down the hallway, with Mikey remaining by his side the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The action is so nearly over, damn.
> 
> I recommend keeping your umbrellas up because the shit hitting the fan is coming down with a vengeance.


	25. Chapter 25

Patrick woke up slowly, his senses opening up one by one and putting together what was happening, and what had happened. He noticed that he was in the empty library, though there was only a faint light coming from a lamp that contained a candle. At first, he thought it was totally silent, but if he listened carefully he could hear the commotion of prison guards and prisoners alike. He was lying on the cold hard concrete, with rope binding his wrists and ankles. His whole body still felt sluggish. He realised that he had been kidnapped, or captured, and tried to remember what happened before he was assumingly knocked out – and then he remembered Ashlee standing over him and a foul smelling cloth.

That was when he realised that he wasn’t alone.

“It’s about time,” Ashlee said, and Patrick looked at her to see that she had a frown on her face. “I was beginning to wonder if I’d accidentally killed you. Not that it would really be my fault that I used too much chloroform.” It took Patrick a few more seconds than it should have to realise what she was referring to.

“If I knew what would happen if I got into the van drunk that night, I never would have had a drop of alcohol,” Patrick said, his voice still sleepy.

“That’s what I hate the most about you,” Ashlee said. “You’re so honest. You’re the embodiment of what I want in this world, but I want nothing more than to kill you.”

“What you want…?” Patrick murmured.

“It’s not like you would understand,” Ashlee said, sighing. “You wouldn’t understand how I’m trying to make the world into a more truthful place by killing those who lie, because you would only say that killing is wrong. But that is the most _efficient_ way, and that’s all you need to know.”

“You’re right, I don’t understand,” Patrick replied. As some of the haze had cleared from his mind, he wiggled up into a sitting position. “I don’t understand how you justify your killing like this when you’re insane.”

“Insane?” Ashlee laughed. “I’m the insane one? The one who is trying to clean up this world?” She shook her head. “It’s just a shame that I couldn’t send your dear _boyfriend_ out of this world.”

“What did you do to Pete?” Patrick demanded.

“I tried to kill him, but he got lucky. Some bitch figured out something was going down, so she charged into my apartment, saw Pete and called the ambulance and the police.”

Patrick couldn’t breathe. He was unbelievably happy that Pete did get lucky, but if they had to call an ambulance…

“It doesn’t matter, though,” Ashlee said, sighing. “I’m going to finish him off.”

“No,” Patrick murmured.

“It will be even sweeter with you watching.”

“Why are you doing this? What did Mikey mean to you?”

“I _loved_ Mikey!”

“But it wasn’t as if he loved you!”

“That doesn’t matter.” Ashlee knelt down to a bag that was next to the lamp, and pulled out a sledgehammer. “Pete is taking too long to get here, so I’m going to have a bit of fun.” Patrick had barely registered her words when she lunged at him and swung the hammer at his shoulder. There was a sickening crack, and Patrick tumbled to the floor, screaming. Ashlee raised her hammer and smashed it into him over and over again, shattering his shoulder and smashing his ribs in.

“Stop!” somebody shouted, and Patrick raised his head to see where the voice had come from, but could only see a silhouette in the doorway.

“Finally, I thought I might have accidentally killed your little boyfriend if you hadn’t come sooner,” Ashlee said sourly, disappointed that she was interrupted. Patrick then realised that it was Pete who had come.

Pete ran over to Patrick and threw himself by his side, picking Patrick off of the floor and cradling him in his arms. Patrick felt the pain flaring up where he was hit, but he felt so faint and dizzy he could barely muster up the energy to say anything.

“Patrick, are you okay?” Pete asked him. Patrick simply groaned in pain. “It’s okay, I’ll get you out of here soon.”

“I don’t think so,” Ashlee said darkly. “I suggest you put him down and step away.”

“Why?” Pete asked. Ashlee produced a small remote control from her pocket – one that only had one button.

“I tied a small bomb to his wrists,” she explained, “and if you don’t so as I say, I’ll detonate it. It won’t kill him, but it will leave some lasting damage.”

“You bitch,” Pete said lowly. Ashlee laughed.

“Do you honestly believe I would come into this unprepared?” she asked mockingly. “I’ve made all the preparations to kill you and get out of here, and I’m not going to wait any longer.”

“Pete, she doesn’t have much time left,” Mikey said, making Patrick realise that he was there, “so you have to stall her. If you do, I’m sure help will arrive soon. And don’t worry, I’m still here.”

“I don’t understand,” Pete started, carefully laying Patrick down onto the ground, “why do you want to kill me so badly?”

“You’re a liar,” Ashlee said simply, “and because you’ve become one of the closest people to Patrick.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Ever since Mikey died, I’ve only wanted one thing. And that was to make Patrick pay. He didn’t have much of a life before he got into that accident, but, ironically, he started to get one here. The only person he had was Brendon, and he was technically dead. So I got Ryan to try and kill Brendon – well, by killing, I mean to get Brendon to exhaust himself so his soul disintegrated.” Pete grimaced, remembering what Mikey told him earlier. “And then he was going to rape Patrick. I poisoned Gerard when I saw how good friends he was making with Patrick. And then I killed – or at least tried to kill – you when I realised how close he was getting to you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Patrick murmured.

“Patrick?” Pete said, turning around. Patrick rolled onto his knees, then looked straight at Ashlee.

“I get Brendon,” he started, “but I haven’t known Pete or Gerard that long. It’s not like I’m in love with Pete, or overly close to Gerard.” Patrick narrowed his eyes, beginning to see a dark colour around her. “Brendon told me that your soul is unstable. And I think I can see it.” If Patrick focused hard enough on her, he could see how her glow would fluctuate – the dark colour would sometimes shine clearly, and other times it would be barely seen. “I don’t know what your wish is, but I don’t care. And I think that dark colour means that that person has lost all ability to reason.

“You say you want to make me suffer, but you’ve barely done anything, so, that makes me think… you just like killing, don’t you?”

“That’s not true,” Ashlee said immediately.

“It is,” Patrick insisted. “You say you want to make me suffer, but in truth, you’ve made Pete suffer more. You hurt his best friend, you gained his trust, and then you broke that by trying to kill him.

“Any person would feel bad for killing people, no matter the reason, but if what you say is true… if you’ve killed so many but don’t feel remorse, you must feel some sort of enjoyment.”

“So what if I do? It’s not going to change anything. And it’s certainly not going to change the fact that I’m going to kill Pete!” She dropped the sledgehammer, reached into the waistband of her pants and drew out a gun, aiming it at Pete. “You got lucky last time, but I’m not letting you get away this time.” Out of this corner of his eye, Patrick saw Mikey start to glow.

“No, don’t!” he shouted. “Please! I don’t want anyone to suffer anymore because of me!”

“Too late!” Pete and Patrick saw Mikey move quickly, smacking the gun out of her hand and kicking it away, and then grabbed the detonator out of her hand. She gasped, trying to figure out what had happened.

“That’s enough,” Mikey said, “I won’t let you kill him.” She froze, being able to hear his voice.

“Mikey…? Is that you?” she whispered.

“Pete, take Patrick and get out of here,” Mikey said. Pete didn’t need to be told twice – he quickly ran over to Patrick, picked him up with a bit of effort and ran quickly out.

“Pete, I’m sorry,” Patrick whispered.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay,” he said, as the lights came back on. He could see up ahead that there were fights going on between the inmates and the prison guards. “I’ll get you out of here, and-“

“What are you doing there?” somebody called, and Pete looked to see there was a prison guard there.

“Patrick’s hurt really bad! We need to get an ambulance- oh, and Ashlee Simpson is in there!” he said, motioning to the room he just ran out of.

“Oh, she’s the one who escaped! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her. Call an ambulance, then find somebody working here to accompany Patrick.”

“Got it.” Pete started to run again, and pushed through the riots in order to reach the reception area, which was quiet.

“Uh, sir, can I help you?” the lady behind the counter asked.

“Patrick is hurt really badly, and he needs to go to hospital!”

“We’ll take care of it sir, and we’ll call a doctor for you as well.”

“Why?” Pete stumbled a bit, suddenly feeling lightheaded as his adrenaline faded away.

“Pete, you’re bleeding,” Patrick pointed out. Pete looked down, and saw that there was blood seeping through his t-shirt.

“Oh, my stitches tore,” he said, then put down Patrick on one of the chairs. He heard the lady call an ambulance. He looked down his t-shirt and saw that half of his stitches had torn, and blood was leaking out of the wound in rivulets.

“Shit,” he mumbled, before collapsing and blacking out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, I meant to finish this for Monday but I had a huge presentation to work on, and the work only stopped when I did it yesterday >.>
> 
> Thank you for sticking around, if you've been following this since the first, tenth or even twentieth chapter. I know my updating has been sporadic and filled with months-long absences. I should have this finished with a week, two at the most.
> 
> Thank you again!


	26. Chapter 26

When Pete woke up, he was in hospital yet again. He sighed, realising what happened before he fainted again. Great. His stitches were ripped out, which means he’ll probably have to spend more time in hospital. He could feel his wounds throbbing with pain.

But more importantly, what happened to Patrick?

“Oh, you’re awake,” a nurse said. Pete looked up at her.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Do you know where Patrick Stumph is by any chance?”

“He’s the man who came in with you, right?” she asked.

“I fainted at the prison, I don’t know what happened after that.”

“He’s in surgery at the moment. He has several broken ribs, a shattered shoulder and a punctured lung. He’s got a long road of recovery ahead of him.”

“But he’ll be okay, right?”

“Yes, I’m sure he will be. As for you, the police have some questions. How are you feeling right now?”

“My wounds hurt a bit, otherwise I’m okay.”

“We’ll give you some more painkillers, and I’ll send the police in.”

* * *

“Mikey, what happened between you and Ashlee?” Pete asked, a few minutes after the police left.

“Not a lot,” Mikey replied, sighing. “She was pissed off that I stopped her, and asked whether or not I wanted revenge or not, and then the prison guard came in. I couldn’t really do much else.” Mikey grimaced. “Anyway, I have to move on soon. I came to say goodbye.”

“You’re going?”

“Yeah. I’ve done what I needed to do now. By the way, you probably won’t like to hear this, but Ashlee is my soulmate.”

“What? That bitch?”

“She’s okay… when she’s not crazy.” Mikey shrugged. “But when she dies, the insanity will clear from her soul, and it will be clear as it was when she was born.”

“Hang on… I don’t really get this. Didn’t Patrick also say something about her soul being unstable?”

“I’ll start from the beginning. Every soul has a colour. You can probably see mine.”

“Huh? You mean you haven’t been glowing purple and blue for whatever weird reason?” Mikey laughed.

“You mean you’ve seen my colour but didn’t say anything about it?”

“I thought it was just a ghost thing.”

“Well, now that you can see ghosts, you can also see the colour of their souls. You can’t see the colour of souls that are still part of this realm, though. It’s weird, though… it seemed like Patrick was able to see Ashlee’s soul back there.”

“You think?”

“I don’t know why.” Mikey shook his head. “Anyway. There’s also a colour that you can’t normally see in this world, but souls can be this colour. However, a soul is never naturally that colour. If a person suffers severe trauma, then the soul becomes that colour. If it does, that person loses all ability to reason. However, when that person dies and the soul is released, it returns to its natural colour.”

“And that’s what happened to Ashlee?”

“Yes.”

“Shit. I wonder what happened in her life.”

“Me too.”

“So… you’re going?”

“Yeah.” Mikey smiled. “But it’s okay. We’ll probably see each other in the next realm, one day.”

“I hope so.” Pete returned his smile.

“Goodbye.”

* * *

As luck would have it, Patrick ended up in the bed next to his.

It was a few days after Patrick had multiple surgeries in order to fix all of the damage Ashlee dealt him, so he had several bandages wrapped around his chest and shoulder. It hurt Pete to see Patrick with so many bandages, even though he seemed to be fine.

“I’ll be okay, promise,” Patrick said to him with a smile. “Everything is fixed up. As long as I don’t escape the hospital like someone else, and let myself heal, I’ll be fine.”

“Ha ha,” Pete replied sarcastically. “I did that to save you, y’know.”

“I know,” Patrick replied, his smile falling. “And I’m really grateful for that. I’m sure I would have been in a much worse state if you hadn’t come, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but thank Mikey,” Pete said, “he was the one who saved both of our asses in the end.”

“I did. He’s gone now.”

“Yeah, I know.” There was a pause. “Ashlee’s gone now. The cops said that she’s in a high-security jail, but we both need to go and testify at her trial.”

“They told me that too. I also told them that she said she’d killed lots of other people, and they said that they’ve been looking into some cold cases that had been linked to her. She’s going to be going to prison for a long time.”

“That’s great. Now _she_ really deserves it.”

“Hey Pete.”

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking, well... I’m going to apply for parole, so when I get out, will you be my boyfriend?”

“I can be your boyfriend right now.”

* * *

 

A month later, Patrick stepped out of the Metropolitan Correctional Centre, in his own clothes for the first time in seven months, and walking along with a bounce to his step to his boyfriend’s car. Pete’s smile shined when he saw him, and Patrick couldn’t help but return his brilliance.

“You can finally kiss that dump behind!” Pete exclaimed happily.

“I can’t believe I get to leave it behind so soon,” Patrick commented, shaking his head, “though I don’t get complete freedom.”

“Yeah yeah. You have a parole officer to report to, and you have to stay at the same address for the whole time.” Pete rolled his eyes, though he smirked. “No overnight stays at my place, then.” Patrick blushed. They hadn’t even touched the topic of sex – how could they, when they hadn’t even been able to get vaguely intimate?

“Y-yeah,” Patrick stuttered out. The ride to his apartment wasn’t far, and was filled by their excited chatter, which came to an end far sooner than Pete liked.

“So, you want me to come in, or…” Pete started, but then trailed off.

“No, but I’ll see you tomorrow. I have something to do.” There was a deeply sad tone in Patrick’s voice which Pete started at, but his eyes softened with understanding.

“Gotcha. I’ll see you soon, lunchbox,” Pete said, smiling and then winking. Patrick shook his head, but he was also smiling.

“See ya.” With some reluctant, Pete drove off, and then Patrick made his way to his apartment.

It stank. The dishes that were left before the car accident seemed to have developed some new kind of mould, the fridge gave off some unholy smell when opened, there was dust _everywhere,_ and it was horribly stifling. Not to mention that there were a few big spiders and spider webs around that was currently scaring the crap out of Patrick.

Patrick fought his way through the thick scent to his bedroom, where he dug out an envelope from his bedside drawer. He glanced briefly at the envelope, seeing the loops and curls of Brendon’s fancy handwriting, checking to make sure that his wallet was still in his pocket, and then made his way back out of the apartment.

The walk to Graceland cemetery wasn’t far, and he bought some violets from the florist on the way. It didn’t take long to locate what he was looking for.

He’d only gone to Brendon’s grave once for his funeral, as he could still communicate with him, and yet the steps towards it were forever engraved in his head. It wasn’t long after his funeral that Brendon appeared, and that was that.

He knelt down on the grass, which seemed to have grown far too quickly to cover up the disturbance in the earth. The only indicator that Brendon was there was his gravestone, and Patrick was far too grateful for that. He had seen some unmarked graves, and he could only imagine how painful it is for the families.

“Hey Brendon,” Patrick whispered, setting down the violets gentle in front of the grave, like an offering. “I brought flowers. They- I mean, I heard they mean peace and healing. I thought that it was appropriate. Despite everything, we all finally found peace, and we healed our wounds.” He then held up the letter, which he had carefully carried all the way. “I’m finally going to read what you left for me, which you told me to read _only_ after you moved on.” He tore it open, and began to read. And read. And then he started to guffaw uncontrollable.

He laughed and he laughed, until he ran out of breath and he wheezed, as was trying to laugh and breathe at the same time.

When he finally regained himself, he tucked the letter back in the envelope, and set it under the flowers, giggling all the way.

“Well Brendon, you finally succeeded,” he said, getting up, “even if it meant pulling strings from beyond death. And now, I think me and Pete are going to be happy forever.” He looked around the cemetery, finding that the peace and tranquillity was soothing his soul. “Cork trees really are beautiful,” he remarked, before turning and walking away, never to look back.

“Immortal, really…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, this is the final chapter, though the epilogue is coming soon!
> 
> The epilogue is going to have smut in, so if you don't want to read that then the story ends here. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your support and sticking with this story, despite my random absences. This story and my motivation is nothing without you guys. 
> 
> I'm not really great with these kind of words, but I really am grateful for all the support this story has gotten - I honestly didn't expect all the kudos and kind comments I received. 
> 
> As for a sequel, I highly doubt that there will be, HOWEVER I will probably write some one-shots in this universe. If you want to see something, then leave a comment!
> 
> Also, if you have any questions, feel free to ask and I'll answer them.
> 
> Again, thank you so much and enjoy the smut if you're going to read it!


	27. Epilogue

Sweat poured off of his forehead like a river, but despite that Patrick felt exhilarated. His opening concert had gone perfectly, and had exceeded his wildest expectations. Despite all the bad press he’d gotten because of his prison sentence, Pete was a wonder when it came to marketing. Seeing all those people squeezing together like sardines, all trying to get as close to the stage as possible was absolutely sensational. Patrick already couldn’t wait for the next concert.

“Lunchbox, you killed it!” Pete shouted out excitedly, clapping. The rest of the backstage crew joined in with the clapping. Patrick blushed, rubbing his hand on the back of his sweaty neck.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he replied modestly. He went over to Pete and wrapped his arms around him, planting a loving kiss right on his lips.

“Patrick, you know I love you, but you really need to shower,” Pete told him, scrunching his face up over-exaggeratedly. Patrick laughed, unlatching his sweaty form off his boyfriend’s.

“I’ll forget you called me smelly for you, my dear,” he said with a laugh, as he walked towards his dressing room. Pete laughed after him. “I’ll see you back at the hotel room.”

After taking a quick walk to the hotel and then a long shower, Patrick returned to his bedroom to find Pete spread out across their bed with a rose in his mouth, and wearing nothing but a white, fluffy dressing gown. Some rose petals had been spread slightly haphazardly on and around the bed, and the room was only lit by two candles on either side of the bed.

“What’s all this for?” Patrick asked, genuinely surprised.

“To celebrate your first concert, of course,” Pete replied after taking the rose out of his mouth. “And tonight, I’m treating you.” He smiled seductively, sending a wave of excitement throughout Patrick. Pete beckoned him with a single finger, and Patrick felt like a fish being reeled in as he couldn’t help but feel pulled towards him. He crawled on top of him and and kissed him passionately, their tongues sliding together like velvet. Pete was addicted to his taste - he could never get enough of it, and craved it like nicotine whenever he didn’t have it. But perhaps the only thing more fulfilling than his taste was his everything. Pete loved him with every fibre of his being, and for how cheesy it sounded, he would give up anything and everything for him. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if he hadn’t met Patrick.

Patrick’s hands slid over his body like fire, igniting his body in flaming passion. Pete linked his arms around his neck and brought their bodies closer, feeling the beginnings of Patrick’s arousal against him. Patrick moaned against his mouth, pressing their barely clothed crotches against each other. He disconnected their mouths, a lewd pop echoing from the newly created space.

“God, I love you,” he breathed.

“I love you too,” Pete replied. Patrick leant down to kiss him again, but just as their lips touched Pete pulled him to the side, then using the momentum to swing himself on top of him. Patrick looked surprised, but any thought he had was completely wiped from his mind as Pete suckled on a spot of his neck that he knew from past experience was one of his most sensitive spots. He suddenly felt a wave of possessiveness go through him - with Patrick’s popularity, he had a lot of admirers - and although he was acutely aware that they were soulmates, that nothing could ever tear them apart, he still felt the primal urge to show everyone that he was his. He sucked on his neck with vigour, dragging his teeth along it. Patrick gasped with both surprise and pleasure. Pete ventured a bit higher up once a deep bruise formed, to his jawbone, and began forming a hickey there as well.

“Ah- Pete- you’ll leave a mark,” Patrick panted.

“Good,” Pete growled, his deep, lust-laden tone reverberating throughout Patrick’s body. He blushed, letting out a breathy moan. Once Pete finished making another mark, he pushed himself up so he could admire his handiwork - or, perhaps more accurately, his mouth-iwork. Patrick’s cheeks were dusted with a pink blush, his lips swollen, and his eyes heavy with lust.

“You’re beautiful,” Pete said. As soon as he said that, Patrick’s blush intensified. “I love you so much. I love every single thing about you. Your hair, your eyes, your round cheeks…” He trailed a hand over one of the aforementioned cheeks. “Your plush lips, and the sweet, sweet voice that escapes from them…” As he talked, Patrick’s blush grew deeper and deeper, but that didn’t stop Pete. “Your sensitive neck that I like teasing so much, your chest that contains the heart that returns my love…” He slipped his hand underneath Patrick’s robe, and rolled his fingers over his nipples, making a breathy moan escape from him. “Your nipples…” He pulled the robe away and latched onto one of his nipples like a newborn, rolling the bud around in his mouth. He pinched the other one between his fingers. Patrick’s toes curled reflexively at the pleasure, but there was something else that desperately needed stimulation.

“Pete…” Patrick whined.

“Am I embarrassing you?” Pete teased, before getting a sappy look on his face. “Well, everything I’ve said is true. And I’ve yet to get to one of my favourite parts…” He smirked, before travelling down lower and undoing the knot of Patrick’s robe and flinging it open. Patrick was wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs, which were quickly done away with. Patrick’s erection sprung up, and Pete licked his lips in anticipation. He wasted no time, going down on Patrick and easily swallowing him up until he hit the back of his throat. Patrick let out a loud moan, subconsciously lifting his hips so that he was pressing himself further into Pete’s mouth. Pete bobbed up and down, his lips sliding along his length and coaxing it to its full length, his cheeks hollowing, his hand caressing his balls. He didn’t stop even as Patrick slid a hand into his hair, lightly tugging at the dark strands, or when he tried - and failed - to stop himself from thrusting up into his mouth.

“Pete, Pete,” Patrick panted out, his name the only thing his pleasure-addled mind could think of. Pete looked up at him with a mischievous look in his eyes, and with a final slide of his lips, tongue and hand over his hot and sensitive flesh, he became undone. He threw his head back in ecstasy and came, spurting into his soulmate’s mouth, who swallowed everything with ease. Not a single droplet escaped between his swollen lips. When Patrick came down from his high, he saw that Pete was sitting on his stomach, rubbing his cock between his asscheeks.

“Would you like to do the honours?” Pete asked with a smirk. Patrick realised what he was asking, and snaked a hand to Pete’s backside. He prodded his entrance, but he was astonished when he found a buttplug.

“Wow,” Patrick said, then pulled it out. Pete’s insides were slick and stretched out, so he didn’t need any preparation. Patrick slid himself inside, and they both moaned at the feeling of their union. Pete rolled his hips, rubbing Patrick’s cock against his walls. Then he started riding him with vigour, to both of their pleasures. Patrick bucked up to meet Pete, his balls slapping against his ass and the head of his cock hitting Pete’s prostate deep inside him. They were both close, yet somehow Patrick sensed that Pete’s orgasm would lag a little behind his. He brought a hand to Pete’s cock, which he noticed was rubbing on his stomach, and started to jack him off so he could bring him closer to the edge. Pete brought a hand to try and stop him.

“I’m treating you, let me do all the work,” Pete insisted between pants. Patrick’s expression was one of stubborn determination, and knowing he wouldn’t win, Pete relented, settling his hand on top of Patrick’s so they could stroke him to completion together. They climaxed at the same time, their orgasms intensified with their potent love that defined their very souls. For a fraction of a second, they could see the colour of each other’s souls, but then it was gone, and when they returned to reality they stared lovingly into each other’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Pete pulled himself off of Patrick, who was now complete soft, and winked.

“If I do say so myself, that was amazing,” he said. Patrick gave a tired chuckle. Pete grabbed a cloth and did a quick clean-up, which was all he had the energy for, before collapsing by his soulmate’s side.

“I love you,” Patrick said.

“I love you too,” Pete replied, smiling.

“I’m still upset you left a mark on me.”

“Yeah, but you’ll forgive me.”

“I think that goes without saying.” They nuzzled into each other, their souls resonating with shared love, before they drifted off into a peaceful sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did this take me so long to so lol
> 
> I'm probably going to so some huge editing on this, clean up the cringiness and add a couple of ideas I never got to use. So yeah, there's that to look forward to. And after that? ...I'm not sure, but I'm reluctant to do anymore FOB stories - or stories about real people in general. I always feel awkward writing them. But we'll see.


End file.
